Dream West
by bourbon
Summary: AU. Jordan has haunting dreams. Are they voices from another time? And what are they trying to tell her. WJ Pairing.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Several months ago, NCCJFAN and I were tossing around ideas about an AU taking place in the old West (who can resist Woody in tight jeans, right?). She and jmkw, writing as Nina Lavough, recently posted their AU "A Heart Always Knows Where to Find Home" based on this idea._

_Mine was slower in coming, and I just now got around to finishing it. I'm not sure how I feel about this one. It didn't really turn out like I had planned. It's much different than Nina's. Me being me, it's much darker and angstier. Too dark, I think. But it was just taking up room on my hard drive, and I couldn't bring myself to delete it. So, here it is. It's an OK story, I think, but I'm not sure it's a good Crossing Jordan story. Anyway, if you're up for it, you be the judge..._

XXXXX

"Sweet Grass County, Montana."

His voice cut through the silence as she poured over a new file. When she looked up from her desk, Woody was leaning against the door frame, and she noticed with some disappointment that her heart still fluttered when she saw him.

"I'm sorry?"

"Sweet Grass County, Montana," he repeated taking an unsure step inside. "Ever heard of it?"

_Yes, of course_. It was her first thought, and she opened her mouth to say so, but then stopped. "No." And then, less sure: "I don't think so."

"Well, you have now." He picked up a paperweight from her desk and began to bounce it from hand to hand, probably unaware that he was doing it.

She frowned. When had things gone so wrong between them? She had never felt as close to him as she had, snowbound at the Lucy Carver, and the physical moments they had shared had grown out of the emotional intimacy they had created there. But it had all melted away with the snow when they had returned to Boston.

She had thought she was ready. She wanted this, she wanted more with Woody. Then he had turned down her invitation inside her apartment with a weary, _I don't want to be your backup guy._

She had ached for him with a physical longing for weeks, but she knew he had been right. Every time she had loved someone, even dared _try_ to love someone, hearts had been shattered, her own included. She wasn't sure she could face that pain again.

He had tried to reach out. He had left voice messages and email asking her in that cheerful, platonic way to come out with him on a Friday night. She had ignored him, and they had barely spoken in the last month.

Now, their meetings were all stilted conversation and nervous fumblings, like this, as he fidgeted with her paperweight.

She leaned back in her chair. "So, what's in Sweet Grass County, Montana?"

"The Dorchester Strangler."

Her eyes grew wide. There had been a series of murders of young women in the Dorchester area starting the year before. Then as quickly as the killings had begun, they had simply stopped. "You're kidding..."

"Nope. Same M.O. A college student home on spring break was last seen leaving a local bar. They found her body the next day in a field outside the town of Sweet Grass in Sweet Grass County. She'd been sedated with Rohypnol. There were signs of sexual assault, but she'd been redressed after the assault. All except for..."

"Her bra. Which he used to strangle her," Jordan added grimly. She knew the case all too well. "_Damn._ How the hell did he end up in Montana?"

"That's what we're trying to find out. We've got him cornered, though. The Feebies are running the show now." He stood for a moment, rocking back on his heels nervously. "But..."

"But?"

"But..." He puffed up his cheeks and blew out his breath. "Walcott wants us out there."

She gulped a mouthful of air. "Us. Together."

"You did the autopsies, and I was lead detective," he said almost apologetically. "We're booked on the 3:30 PM flight."

Her mouth dropped open as he stood there in front of her desk with his eyes cast down. She and Woody. On a plane. Together. Alone. This would not go well, she suddenly knew.

He reached in his breast pocket and pulled out a ticket and laid it gently on her desk. "See you at Logan in a couple of hours, Jordan."

XXXXXX

She was aware of the warmth of the sun on her skin and the coolness of the ground against her bare arms and legs. One arm was draped over her eyes to block out the afternoon rays.

The branches of an overhead tree swayed and rustled. She could hear the ripple of the breeze across the water that splashed at her naked feet.

"Wake up, Jo. You're dreaming."

There was a rough brush of fingertips against the soft skin of her cheek. She murmured something. The sun was too warm and the breeze too delicious to want to move.

"Jo? Can you hear me? Wake up."

She lifted her arm from her eyes and saw the figure crouching on the ground beside her. He wore a wide-brimmed hat -- a cowboy hat, she thought -- which he titled up from his face with one finger. The sun was behind him, and she could not make out his features.

She smiled lazily. "I don't want to wake up..."

"Come on, Jordan," the figure said, brushing her hair from her face. "Wakey-wakey. The plane's about to land."

Plane. She was on a plane. There was the hum of the engines and the feel of the air vent blowing down on her.

Her eyes snapped open. Woody sat next to her, shaking her arm lightly. "Come on, Jordan. Trays up, carry-on luggage stowed and all that. We're getting ready to land."

She blinked back into focus. "I was dreaming..." she muttered.

"That must have been some dream." He yanked his seat back into the upright position. "You've been mumbling in your sleep for the last fifteen minutes"

She frowned. "I was?"

"Yeah. What was all that about?"

"I don't know. There was a field, a tree, a little pond. I was lying in the grass. Someone was there. That's all I can remember."

He shrugged and went back to his magazine.

The dream stayed with her even as they landed, picked up their rental car, and headed out onto the road. It had all been so vivid: the sun, the breeze, the touch of the man's hand, and she found herself replaying it in her mind throughout the long, silent trip toward Sweet Grass.

It was late by the time they reached their motel. Sweet Grass County was a dry place with mile upon mile of empty horizon. Spring had not arrived yet here, and patches of snow still dotted the prairie. She rode with her head pressed against the passenger window, not able to shake her dream or the strange familiarity of the landscape.

They were staying along with other crime scene personnel at a tidy Holiday Inn not far from the field where the girl's body had been found. They were due to meet up with local and federal agents first thing in the morning.

It had been a long day, and they both yawned as they headed toward their side-by-side motel rooms. She nodded and grunted a good night as she lifted her cardkey to the lock.

"G'night, Jordan," he mumbled in response. Then he stopped and turned around uneasily. "Jordan?"

She pushed the door open. "Yeah?"

"Is everything...okay?"

"Sure, why?"

"I don't know. You haven't answered any of my emails or returned my phone calls lately, and I was getting kind of worried," he said, trying to hide the traces of hurt in his voice.

"Oh, that." She laughed casually. "Busy. You know. Work's really kicking me in the pants these days."

"Oh." There was a pause. "Because I know we've never really talked about...what happened in Littleton. I just don't want there to be anything weird between us."

"Weird? What, us? No. It's all good, Woody. Really."

He waited a beat and then started again cautiously. "When I said that I didn't want to be your backup guy, I just meant..."

She held up a hand to stop him. "You were right, Woody. Absolutely right. It's all for the best."

He paused for a minute. "Absolutely." She thought she detected trace of a small, sad smile. "Well, good night. I'll see you tomorrow."

He was gone down the hall then and into his own room. She closed the door on her empty room and collapsed with exhaustion on the bed.

XXXXXXXXX

_The tree swayed ominously and dropped a tumble of leaves into the pond. Heavy black clouds threatened overhead. A figure on a horse was retreating in the distance: a man, his coat collar pulled around his ears. Somewhere a woman screamed._

She was aware of the thudding of her heart. Her mouth was dry, and she knew the scream had been her own. She sat up and fumbled for the bedside light in the unfamiliar room, the sound of the scream still in her ears.

It was the same tree, the same pond as in her dream from the airplane. They meant nothing to her, but it had all seemed so _real_ somehow, and not the surreal, disjointed imagery of usual dreams.

She dragged herself into the bathroom and flinched as she clicked on the harsh bathroom light. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles, and her heart still raced. Why? Why would these seemingly innocuous images cause her to wake up drenched in sweat?

It wasn't the images themselves, but the tide of emotion that each one brought on. It was a peaceful enough view of a weeping willow by a pond, a man on a horse. Yet, she had awakened with an overwhelming sense of grief and fear.

There was something about this place. She had felt it as soon as she had stepped off the plane: a strange sense of disquietude, and the uncomfortable feeling of...what was it? Deja vu?

She stepped into the shower and readied herself for the day ahead, knowing there was no point in trying to return to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Woody was already in the motel lobby helping himself to the free breakfast and talking to an attractive young woman in an FBI windbreaker when Jordan finally came in.

He nodded in Jordan's direction, and she smiled back weakly. She grabbed a muffin and headed over as the FBI agent exited the lobby toward the parking lot.

"Hey, Jordan. I'm just about to head out to the crime scene with the feds, if you're interested."

"No, thanks. I'm observing the autopsy this morning. You have fun with...Agent Starling."

"Ooo! Jealous!" he said with a chuckle, but then he looked at her through narrowed eyes. "Are you all right, Jordan?"

"Fine. I didn't get much sleep last night..." she mumbled unconvincingly.

"Really? I slept like a baby. There's something about sleeping in motels that always puts me right out..."

He suddenly clamped his mouth shut, and she could see his cheeks flush red. They were both well aware of the last time Woody had slept in a motel.

"Well, I'll...see you tonight, Jordan." He headed out into the wintry air while she sat joylessly and finished her stale muffin.

Later, she walked in the cold the few blocks into the center of town. Sweet Grass was a typical small town with a courthouse on the square and main street with a bank and hardware store and diner.

She sat in on the autopsy with the local M.E., an older man who had been doing the job for decades. It was close to lunch when they finished, and she headed outside to where the late morning sun had taken the chill out of the air.

It was pleasant as she walked the streets. The locals nodded at her welcomingly, and the strange feeling of unease had lifted. She had spent all her life on one coast or the other and had never really seen the country's interior, but there was a homey and comfortable feel about this place.

She poked around in an antique store and wandered next door to a second hand book shop with row upon row of old paperbacks and dusty hardbacks. The proprietor, a rumpled woman with soft crinkles around her eyes, nodded and smiled as Jordan began to browse the shelves.

"Can I help you find something in particular?"

"No, I'm just looking right now. Thanks."

The woman smiled pleasantly. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Actually, there is," Jordan found herself asking. "I'm from out of town. I was wondering if you had anything about local history."

The woman's eyes lit up. "Well, I not only run this shop, I'm president of the county historical society." She rose from her stool at the counter and disappeared behind a tall stack of books. Jordan took it as an invitation to follow her and headed between the shelves.

At the back corner of the store was a section marked "Local History." The low shelves were crammed with books on pioneer history and the walls were covered with old maps and sepia-toned photographs from the turn of the century.

The woman pulled several volumes from the shelf and thrust them into Jordan's arms. "I recommend these. They're easy reading. That last one is a quick read, too. It's a reprint of an old journal kept by one of the homesteaders from the 1880s. The period detail is wonderful. And very _spicy_, too."

Jordan smiled wanly. She had really only wanted a guide book or maybe a coffee table book she could take home, but the woman seemed so enthusiastic that Jordan dropped them in a paper bag, paid for the books, and headed back to the motel.

She ordered a pizza from the nearby Domino's and sat on the bed with a slice in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

"Hey, Nigel. It's Jordan. I faxed you a copy of the toxicology report on the latest victim. Can you run it through the computer and cross-reference it with the Dorchester Strangler victims for me?"

"Will do. How goes it in Montana?"

"Let's just say it's cold."

"And how are things with young Woodrow?"

"What does that mean?"

"Don't mind me," he said with a quick laugh. "Well, duty calls, love..."

"Wait, Nige..." She took a deep breath before continuing. "What do you know about dream interpretation?"

There was a small silence. "What kind of dreams?"

"You know..." She took a bite of pizza. "Recurring dreams. The kind where you wake up in a cold sweat."

"What's going on out there, Jordan?" Nigel asked with mild concern.

"Well, you know. It's no big deal. I've just had a couple of...you know...strange, vivid dreams. It kind of had me curious, that's all."

"_Fascinating!"_ he said with relish. "Jung believed that dreams are messages filled with hidden symbols from the unconscious mind. To unravel the mystery of the dreams, we have to learn the meaning of those symbols."

"Well, it's not really a dream _per se_. There are just some images: a falling snow, a weeping willow by a pond, a man on a horse, the sound of a woman screaming."

"And what do those images mean to you?"

"That's just it. Absolutely nothing. And I don't think they're _symbols,_ actually. It feels very real. Like...I've been there before."

"Maybe you have."

"What? You mean like in a past life?" She snorted in disbelief.

"Some of the world's great religions believe in reincarnation."

"No, no. These are just your garden variety dreams." She laughed unconvincingly.

"Have you ever tried lucid dreaming?" Nigel said brightly. "The idea is that if you're aware you're in a dream, you can control it, change the outcome. Tonight before you go to sleep, tell yourself that when you see the tree by the pond, you'll remember you're really asleep, and it's only a dream."

"Thanks for the advice, Nigel, but this has gotten a little too weird."

"You know," he started with impish playfulness, "Freud would argue that dreams are actually wish-fulfillments, and those wishes are the result of repressed sexual desires."

"So, my secret fantasies involve a tree, a man on a horse, and a snowstorm?"

"Very kinky," purred Nigel. "I have a recurring dream where I'm late for an exam, and I can't find the classroom. When I finally get there, everyone else is already finished, and time is up."

"Everyone has that dream."

"Except in mine, I'm completely naked."

"Please. I'm eating." Jordan said with a groan. "Good night, Nigel."

"Good night, Jordan. I'll call you with the results. _Sweet dreams."_

She hung up the phone, and there was a soft rap at the door. Woody stood there in the doorway. He had changed out of his suit and into a pair of jeans and a sweater. She noted with a pang of regret that it was the same sweater he had worn when they were at the Lucy Carver Inn.

His face was dark when she had watched him through the peephole, but his eyes were smiling when she opened the door.

"Hey, I was just checking to see how you were doing."

"Fine," she said blandly. An awkward silence followed.

"I'm going a little stir crazy in my room. There's not a lot to do in Sweet Grass, is there? It's like they roll up the sidewalks at 5PM." He laughed, and then his eyes darkened again. "Do you mind if I come in? I'm freezing out here."

"Oh. Sorry." She moved aside reluctantly, and he edged past her inside the room. "What's up?"

"Well," he rubbed his hands together nervously. "I noticed in the bar downstairs that they've got an 80's night tonight. How about you and me slap on a couple of Swatches, peg our jeans, and everybody Wang Chung tonight?" he said with a hopeful laugh.

"I'm really beat, Woody..."

"Sure, I understand. You interested in maybe getting a movie on pay-per-view? Strictly the PG-13 rated kind, of course." He laughed again nervously, but it died in his throat. She looked back at him squarely.

"I don't think so, Woody." Her voice dropped. "We can't do this."

"Jordan, I know things have been a little strained since..." His voice matched hers. "Since the Lucy Carver Inn. There's no point denying it, and it's all my fault. I know I begged you to talk to Pollack, and then I backed away when it ended between you two. Man, I should have come in that night you asked me to. I don't know why I didn't. I was scared, I guess. I don't know. I've been kicking myself ever since then."

She steeled herself. She had read his emails and replayed his voicemail message countless times. How often had she wanted to hit reply or dial his number? She hadn't, though, and she knew it was for the best.

"We _can't_."

"I know we need to take some time," he said in a rush, but she cut him off.

"Woody, please." She shook her head so her long hair whipped around her. "I don't need time."

"I'm asking for a second chance," he said earnestly. "We can do this however you want. I just don't want us not to be friends."

She couldn't look at his imploring face, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. Her resolve was crumbling, and she could feel the tears burn in her eyes.

"Jordan, please..." he murmured and reached up to cup her cheek in his hand. "_Please_."

She took a step back and batted his hand away. "No. _No! _Don't you get it? We can't be friends!"

He took a step into her, but she darted away from him again. "Jordan..."

She breathed in, an unsteady, hitching breath. "We can't have a personal relationship. I don't want to see you outside work anymore." Her voice was a barely audible whisper. Every word cut into her. "That's the way it has to be."

He shook his head, stunned. "You can't mean that."

"I do mean it, Woody. This is not going to work. This is never going to work. It's always too slow or too fast. Too much or not enough. I can't do this anymore." She covered her face with her hands.

"Jordan," he started tenderly. "Jordan, I'm through with that. I've tried to tell you. I want us to be together."

"Please go, Woody."

"Jordan..."

"_Go!_"

WIth her eyes closed, she could still sense him there in the room. Finally, she felt the air move around her. He was gone, the door closing with a sharp click behind him.

She stood for a minute in the empty room and bit her lip to keep from crying. It was no use, and there was the salty taste of her own blood in her mouth. Then, she splashed water on her puffy red eyes, and finished her pizza in silence.

XXXXXX

It was past midnight when she finally got ready for bed. As she switched off the bedroom light and curled into a ball, she found herself repeating in a hushed breath, "It's just a dream. It's not real. When you see the tree, you'll know you're asleep..."

The tree. Swaying in the breeze. A light wind rippled the surface of the pond.

_I'm dreaming. It's only a dream._

She felt then as if she had been pulled into it. She was _there_ rather than watching it, and she could feel the cool air against her skin.

The man. She knew instinctively that he would be behind her. She spun around, to where she could see him begin to recede in the distance.

A noise came, the sound of someone calling after him, and she realized it was her. She was moving then, the heavy ache of loss pulling at her center. If she could stop him from disappearing over the horizon, she could end this now.

_It's only a dream_.

She moved towards him, and he pulled the collar of his heavy coat against his ears as if to dampen the sound of her calling. She drew even with him, then. His hat was drawn down to shield his face from the wind.

If she could only _see_ him...

She reached out, there was the muffled sound of her voice whispering a name, her fingers brushed against the edge of his coat.

And then he was gone. She could feel the rough cloth slip out of her grasp, and the sound that awakened her was her own scream.

Her eyes snapped open, and she woke with her heart thundering in her chest.

She hadn't been able to stop it. It was only a dream; she had been aware of that. Why couldn't she stop him?

As her eyes adjusted to the dim of her room, she replayed the dream in her head. No, they weren't symbols at all. They were as indelibly written on her memory as images of high school graduation or of Christmases past.

It was as if they were long-forgotten memories that had been dredged up. It was as if it had already happened.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Sweet Grass County and the town of Sweet Grass are meant to be situated in the southeast corner of Montana. They are totally figments of my imagination, but I'm told there really is a Sweet Grass County, Montana that bears no resemblance to this one. It just sounded like a good name. I must have heard it somewhere and buried it in my brain. So sorry! I apologize to any Montanans (e.g., pryrmtns) that might be reading!_

_XXXXXXXXXX_

She had only started to drift off again when the phone rang in her darkened motel room.

"No match." It was Nigel's voice on the other end.

"Nigel?" She glanced over at the clock. 5:47 AM. "It's not even 6AM yet."

"Sorry. Forgot the time change," he said apologetically. "I just faxed you a copy of my report to the motel's machine. I know you were hoping that there would be a match, the same concentration of Rohypnol as the Dorchester Strangler's victims, but it's not. It doesn't mean it's not the same killer though."

"Okay, thanks, Nige," she said with disappointment.

"Sorry I woke you for nothing."

"You didn't wake me."

"So...no luck with the lucid dreaming, then?"

There was a beat. She ignored the question and started hesitantly. "Yesterday...when you were talking about reincarnation..."

"Yes..." he followed warily.

"You know what? This is stupid. Forget it." She blew out a breath but then went on. "So, the theory is that we've all had past lives, right? And the idea with each life is to correct mistakes you've made in the past?"

"More or less. Some people believe that our souls are intertwined for all eternity."

"Like...soul mates?"

"A bit. But the idea is that all the people in your present life have always been with you. In another life, you and I might have been siblings or business partners or best mates..."

"But these dreams I've been having about a past life, if that's what it is, and I'm not sure I believe in all that...the question is..._why?_ Why now?"

"Perhaps something in your environment trigged them. Perhaps voices from a past life are trying to tell you something, to warn you that you're about to head down the wrong path."

"Or maybe they're just the product of that sausage and anchovy pizza I had for dinner last night. Gotta run, Nige. Thanks for the fax."

She clicked off the phone before he could say anything else, and after a shower, she headed down to the lobby for breakfast and to retrieve Nigel's fax.

Woody hadn't come down yet, and she sat at a table by herself. She wasn't sure what she would say to him anyway. They had left things so badly the night before, there seemed little between them now.

He headed in a few minutes later. She could see the emotion flicker in his eyes when he saw her. He looked as if he hadn't slept all night. She smiled weakly at him, and he nodded once in her direction and took a seat with the pretty young FBI agent from the day before.

This was the way it was to be, then. She picked at her breakfast in silence. It _was_ what she had wanted. And she knew that someday he would see things her way. It was for the best.

They were scheduled to ride out to the scene where the victim's body had been found, and there followed an agonizing ride out to the crime scene, the two of them crammed into the back of an unmarked government car. Every time his hand brushed against her leg, it sent shivers snaking up her spine.

They spent the better part of the morning in a vast field in the middle of Sweet Grass county. Various agents and law enforcement officials milled around measuring and taking pictures, and for a time, her dreams seemed the furthest thing from her mind.

They broke for lunch and piled back into the car as a convoy of official vans and police cruisers headed back into Sweet Grass. Exhausted from travel and the sleepless nights, she felt herself begin to drift as the telephone poles whizzed by on the endless highway.

She cocked her head. There was something there. Ahead. A small grove of trees...something else.

She sat upright in her seat.

"Stop the car!"

The FBI agent who was behind the wheel peered at her curiously in the rearview mirror.

Woody's head whipped around to her. "What wrong?"

"Stop the car! Right here!"

"What's going on, Jordan?"

She beat the heel of her hand against the driver's head rest. "Stop the car! I said stop the car!"

The agent shrugged and pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road. She had undone her seatbelt and opened the door before he could even throw the car into park.

"Jordan! Wait!" Woody called after her as she stumbled from the car and ran across the hard, brown earth.

She staggered and took a spill on the ground, crying out in pain. She could hear Woody call after, but she jumped to her feet and hobbled on until she was breathless. She stopped then as it came into clear view. It was a small clump of weeping willows, bending against the winter blast. Underneath, the wind broke the surface of the pond.

It wasn't the same as in her dream, but it was close, so close that her blood ran cold. Her breath came out in great, frosty puffs.

"Jordan, what the hell is going on?" Woody had caught up to her and stood with his hands on his hips.

"I don't know...I had to see it," she said as if in a daze.

"Does this have something to do with the murder?"

"No." She shook her head foggily. "I've seen this place before."

"So, you had an entire FBI convoy pull over to the side of the road so you could reminisce?" he said with an edge of anger to his voice. "What do you mean 'seen this place before?' Like in a book Have you been here before?"

"No, not exactly..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked over at him sheepishly. "I can't explain."

"You've just shot our credibility with the feds, you know that?"

His eyes were dark, and he was frowning. All his emotions toward her had become tangled up in this moment, and she knew that his anger had much more to do with what had happened the night before than this.

She shrugged helplessly and looked back toward the image of the weeping willow swaying above the pond. "I'm sorry..." It was all she could say.

He turned and stormed back to where the car idled on the side of the road. She stood for a long moment, aware that her hands were throbbing with pain from her fall on the frozen earth. She limped back to where Woody sat glowering in the back seat.

"Sorry, boys," he huffed as she slid in next to him. "She just had a _feeling_."

The agent in the passenger seat moaned quietly and shot a look to the driver. "Great. We're working with _The Medium _here," he mumbled sarcastically, and the car moved on.

They were silent on the way back, and she could feel his anger radiate from him. She jumped from the car as the agents eased it into their parking space in front of the motel. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes as she headed to her room as quickly as her swollen ankle would carry her.

"Jordan, wait!" She heard him call after her. She hurriedly tried to close the door before he could reach her, but he slid in next to her and stopped the door with his hand. She tossed her bag on the bed as he followed her in. "What the hell was that about?"

"Look, just leave it. You wouldn't understand."

"_Try_ me," he snarled.

"I just had a weird feeling. Like deja vu. I can't explain it."

There was an empty space. She walked to the bathroom and brushed at the bits of dirt and gravel that had embedded in her raw palms. He said nothing, and she hoped he would leave as much as she hoped he would come and fold her into his arms and cover her mouth with kisses.

He took a step in towards her. She could see from his reflection that his features had softened with concern. "Talk to me Jordan. You've been acting strange since we got here."

"No, Woody," she started wearily. "Please just go."

When he spoke, his voice ached. "Don't push me away, Jordan."

He put his hands on each of her shoulders, and her body went rigid. "The way you pushed me away when you were shot? The way you pushed me away when I asked you in the other week?"

Her voice was icy, but he wasn't dissuaded. "I'm sorry for the way I've acted, but it doesn't have to be this way, Jordan. Ever since we made love..."

"We didn't make _love_. We had _sex_."

He stumbled backwards then, as if he had been struck. She watched him in the mirror for a moment and then she turned to him with her arms folded across her chest.

"You cold bitch..." The words came out in a stunned, exhaled breath. Neither of them moved.

Finally, he spoke. "If I leave now, I'm never coming back, Jordan." It was not a threat but a pained realization.

She threw her head back with a humorless snort.

"Then go."

He stood for an agonizing moment. A small corner of her wanted nothing more than to suck the words back into her, but she could not. He turned finally and left her there alone.

She waited until the door had closed behind him before she collapsed on the bed in a shower of tears.

She sat there, as her eyes reddened with crying and her ankle swelled and throbbed. She tossed in bed for an hour, and then swallowed some Tylenol, but sleep was slow in coming. She was exhausted, drained, but something nagged at her. A voice, a feeling.

She rose from the bed and found the paper bag with her purchases from the day before. Something drove her on. She reached in and pulled out the stack of books. One seemed to call out to her. It was a slim paperback with fake gold lettering and a green cover meant to look like an old leather bound volume.

"My God..." she whispered aloud and ran her fingers over the words.

A HOMESTEADER'S STORY:

THE DIARY OF JO CAVANAUGH

MONTANA TERRITORY

1885

(PRINTED BY THE SWEET GRASS COUNTY

HISTORICAL SOCIETY)

She took a deep, calming breath, but her hands trembled as she turned to the first page and began to read.

_June 3rd, 1885. Lily Seely came to see me today to ask me if I'd attend her when the baby comes..._


	4. Chapter 4

**JUNE 3rd, 1885**

Lily Seely came to see me today to ask me if I'd attend her when the baby comes. (Matt drove her out and made himself scarce while we talked. He knows how I feel about him.) I don't know why she thought I'd ever say no, but she nearly begged me and grabbed my hand so tight it hurt. Not to mention that she's been sickly since she came out from back East and Dr. Macy is all the way in Bozeman. It would take half a day for him to get out to the Seely place if something went wrong. With her constitution, I don't think things will go well. I guess I'm the closest thing to a midwife we have in the county. So, I said yes, and she wept a little and threw her arms around me like a long-lost sister. I couldn't help but hurt for her a little.

Before she left, she gave this little book to me to say thank you. She admitted she bought it for herself on her way through Bozeman when she first got here and was going to fill it with descriptions of her new Montana Territory prairie home and all her adventures, but her voice got real quiet and she said she just hadn't been able to think of anything to write in it. "You'll think of something, Jo," she said when she pressed it into my hand. "You always see the beauty that I don't. You're made for this place." Then her eyes got big and she blushed a little like she'd just said something ugly, but I knew what she had meant. I suppose she's right. I am made for this place. I can barely remember Boston anymore.

She said I should fill it with wonderful, secret things and then showed me the little lock on the front of the book and gave me the little key she had tied on the end of a ribbon. I had to laugh a little at that. I don't know who I am locking it against. There's the hired hands, but half of them can't even read. Well, I'm writing in it, anyway. We'll see how long I can keep it up.

Matt came around the side of the house about that time and said they had to be going. Lily said wistfully that she hoped they could stay a bit longer, but Matt got into the wagon without another word, and she had no choice but to climb in after him.

I told her I'd come by her place to check on her the next time I went into Sweet Grass to get the mail. I took her hand, and she squeezed it again. Then Matt pulled off, and her fingers uncurled from mine. She stayed that way, waving with her arm reached out until the wagon became just a dot in the distance.

I think we were all a little surprised when Matthew Seely brought her out from Pittsburgh. She looked like a little porcelain doll with those big, sad eyes. He had no business bringing her out here. Some people are made for this place. Lord help her, she is not. Here she is, though, stuck miles from the nearest living human depending on the likes of Matt Seely.

I hope I never get that way. Dependent on a man for my survival. Tied up to someone who never seems to pay me any mind. I won't be bartered away like some piece of furniture, dragged around to somewhere I don't want to be. I won't be a woman like that. Women like Lily Seely. Women like Mama.

And that's all the wonderful and secret things I have to say for one day.

**JUNE 4th, 1885**

This is my second day of writing, and that is two more days than I thought I would write! I have to admit, but I looked forward to it tonight. I waited until all the chores were done and then I ran and pulled the little book out of the trunk and sat by the fire.

I hired a new hand today. I can barely afford to pay and feed the ones I've already got, but I don't seem to be able to say "no" to people these days! It was late in the afternoon, and the weather was finer than it has been in weeks. I had the flaps on the windows open, and there was such a nice breeze while I heated up dinner. I could hear a horse coming up and went outside to see who it was.

There was a young man standing there, and he took his hat off as quick as he saw me. He was tall, with dark hair, and had eyes bluer than I think I've ever seen. Before I could ask who he was, he hurried over with his hat in his hands and said he'd been in Bozeman that morning looking for work and heard that they might be hiring out at the Cavanaugh place and then he asked if he could to talk to Mr. Cavanaugh. I told him Mr. Cavanaugh had been dead for years, and I was in charge and if he wanted work, he had to talk to me.

Well, that must have made him nervous, because he started to stammer and almost crushed his hat in his hands. "I'm sorry, m-m-m-a'am. They didn't tell me that in B-B-Bozeman! I'm sorry if I've offended you!"

He seemed so sincere I had to laugh, and that only made him blush more. "It's all right. But they've misled you in Bozeman. I'm not looking to hire anyone. I'm sorry you've wasted a trip."

He looked crestfallen and kind of shuffled his feet and turned around to look at the long road back to Bozeman before he faced me again, still crushing his hat in his hands. "Well, the thing is, ma'am." His voice was so quiet, I could barely hear. "I've spent just about the last penny I've got to my name. If you have some small job for me to do in exchange for a meal, I sure would be obliged."

I could see the little dark hollows in his cheeks, and how scared his eyes looked for just a second when he lifted them up off the ground and looked at me. That's a look of hunger, and I know it well. I nodded my head to where Dasher was corraled up. "How are you at roping?" I finally said to him.

"Best in three counties." He grinned so wide I thought his face might split in two.

"Just so long as Sweet Grass County is one of them." I couldn't help but smile back at him, and we walked down to the little corral. I threw my leg up over the fence and perched there while he jumped inside the ring.

I had always thought Pete was the best one I'd seen with horses, but I'd never seen anything quite like this. Dasher was spooked, but the next thing I knew, he had jumped bareback on Dasher. Dasher kicked and brayed for a few seconds, but then he was trotting around the ring while the new hand smoothed out his tangled mane.

I grinned over at him. "There's some wood around back that needs splitting. Then come around front, and I will see what I can find for you to eat."

He jumped from Dasher, and then he hurried around the back. I went inside and mixed up a few more biscuits and the last of the stew and listened while he chopped outside. It was nice not to do it myself or not to have to needle lazy Pete or Sid to do it.

And then, well - I'm not sure what happened or why it took me like it did. I went around to tell him supper was ready, and when I turned the corner, he stood there with his back to me, the axe lifted high over his head and then brought it down hard onto the stump. He had taken his shirt off, and his skin was damp with sweat. The muscles in his arms and back were hard and ropy. He was used to hard work. Then it was me who was blushing, and I turned around and hurried back into the house before he could see. I don't know why I did that, and I feel silly now that I am writing about it. I've seen the hands working in the field half-naked before. It would make some of the other ladies of the county have a fit of vapors, but I don't care about it. I don't know why I blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl. I suppose it was sneaking up on him like that.

He came inside after making quick work of the firewood. He'd put his shirt back on and had smoothed down his hair and washed his face from the rain barrel. He kind of hovered nervously in the door until I invited him to come in to the table and eat.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said.

"Please. It's Jo or Miss Jo or Miss Cavanaugh, if you have to. But not ma'am," I said, and he smiled and nodded and sat down at the plate I'd set for him.

He wolfed it all down like a man who had barely eaten in days. Maybe he hasn't. He didn't seem to mind that the "orange marmalade" was really carrots boiled in sugar and ginger. That funny Englishman who runs the store in Sweet Grass cuts the corn meal with sawdust, I am certain of it, too, but my guest never seemed to notice or care.

We talked a little, when his mouth wasn't full. He told me he'd come from Wisconsin and both his parents were dead. He had tried to make a go of the farm himself, but they owed the bank too much money, so he headed west to try and make his own way. He'd made it to Bozeman the other day, and that is how he ended up at my table.

I looked at him for awhile as he sopped up the last of the stew with the wretched biscuits.

"Planting is coming up. Maybe I could use another hand after all."

He looked up at me, his mouth still full, and he swallowed hard. "Truly?"

"Come for supper on Sunday. I'll have one of the boys get you settled in. We'll start planting the next morning."

I took the empty plate from him, and he jumped up from the table so quick, he knocked his chair backwards.

"Thank you, ma'am! I mean, Miss Jo. You won't be sorry! Sunday for supper. I won't be late." He backed away and fumbled for the hat he'd left inside the door.

I followed him out, and he had gotten on his horse, still thanking me all the way.

"Wait! I don't know your name!' I said with a laugh and handing him up the biscuits and marmalade I'd wrapped up in some cheesecloth.

He touched the brim of his hat. "It's Woody, Miss Jo. Woody Hoyt." And then Woody Hoyt turned his horse around and rode off until Sunday night.

I like him. I think he'll do fine.


	5. Chapter 5

**JUNE 5th, 1885**

The new hand started today.

The sun was starting to set, and the boys had come up for their supper. I had almost thought that Woody Hoyt had gotten a better offer, but as soon as I put the supper on the table, I heard him outside. I went to the door, and he was standing there, still rolling the brim of his hat around in his hands. I smiled a little at that and made a note to get him a new hat the next time I'm in Bozeman. It seems I make him nervous.

We all sat down to supper, and I think I made Pete jealous talking about how handy Woody had been with an axe. Pete is a little hotheaded sometimes, and I think he has an idea that he is in charge. I could see at the other end of the table that Woody was blushing while I was talking about him.

For dessert, I had made a pie with some boiled mashed beans and a little allspice and nutmeg that was so good it could have passed for pumpkin pie. The boys managed to finish it off before Pete grumbled, "He must be pretty special if you made a pie."

I said quickly that I make a pie for every new hand on the farm, but looking back on it, I don't think that's true.

It being Sunday, some of the boys wanted to hear some scripture. They passed Mama's old Bible around taking turns with the readings while I cleared up from dinner. Someone sang an old hymn, and I came in and sat with them. It reminded me of how Mama used to sing in the days when she still felt like singing. We still need a fire after supper to take of the chill, and it was quite cozy.

I told Pete to take Woody out to the bunkhouse and show him where to sleep. He grumbled some more, but gave him a hand with his rucksack. Woody turned to me before they all left, yawning and stretching all the way.

"Thanks for the chance, Miss Jo," he said and smiled.

I feel quite warm and content, and with that, I think I will say good night!

**JUNE 6th, 1885**

We managed to plant the spring garden today. There will be greens, radishes, beans, and peas this spring. I went in to get lunch ready, and I told Woody he was in charge while I was gone. Pete was none too pleased. It is not hard to see that Woody is the best worker I've got.

**JUNE 10th, 1885**

I knew my intentions of writing every day couldn't last too long. Most nights, I am too tired to write anything. Now that it stays light so much later, I can manage to write a few lines so I don't have to strain my eyes by lamplight. I will try to be more disciplined about writing, although I can hardly imagine that anyone would be interested in reading what I have to write in years to come.

I had a visitor today! Henry Slokum came by. He was wearing an old black suit and looked like nothing so much as an undertaker. It was comical, I will say. He went on and on about how lonely and hard my life must be here. I reminded him quickly that I had been running this place since Pa died 11 years ago, and I had been living alone since Mama died soon after.

"Still, it is unseemly for you to be living out here among the field hands without a man's protection," he said.

"Do you have some business with me, Mr. Slokum?" I interrupted him. I could see where he was getting.

He cleared his throat and put his black hat over his heart. "I have been alone since my dear wife passed away. As you know, I have the biggest claim in the county. What I do not have is female companionship. And you, Miss Cavanaugh...it isn't natural for a woman your age to be unwed."

I blinked at him a few times and had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing! He was asking me to marry him! "Thank you, Mr. Slokum. I will have to consider your interesting offer."

"I certainly hope you will. You will not get a better one." And then he gave me the oiliest smile I have ever seen before riding off.

I laughed as he pulled away, but the more I thought about it all day, the angrier I got. I wanted to tell him what I really thought of him and run him off with a pitchfork. He's a powerful man, though. He's been taking advantage of some of the poor, starving farmers, and he's been buying them out cheap. He's got his eye on this place, too.

Well, he can't have it. Ever. I worked too hard to keep this place going after Pa died and left me to take care of it and Mama, too. I will not have it signed over to Henry Slokum or any man for that matter.

I killed two snakes this afternoon. One was curled up by the front door, and the other was sunning himself on the windowsill.

The weather is getting much warmer. I have always loved spring in Montana.

**JUNE 12th, 1885**

I had the boys all up for Sunday supper. They were tired and drowsy from a long day and were eager to shuffle off to bed as soon as it got dark. I remembered as they left that I needed someone to go to Sweet Grass in the morning to load some seed on the wagon. Woody was the last out the door, so I called out for him to stay until I could make up a list of things I'll need.

He seemed kind of wary and nervous at first, but I asked him to come sit by the fire (there is an unusual chill in the air) until I could finish the list. We talked a bit while I wrote. He doesn't say too much, but he is plain-spoken, a quality I appreciate in any person.

I turned my attention to my list, and the only sound for a while was the sound of the logs popping in the fire. And then I could hear him begin to snore softly, and he had drifted off in the chair. I smiled and then coughed rather loudly to wake him. He turned scarlet and raced out of the house with my list in hand, sputtering an apology all the way!

I didn't have time to warn him about Nigel at the store in Sweet Grass. He is an odd bird, but I like him, even if the bags of flour he sells me are half sawdust and plaster.

This will be a short entry, as I have stayed up entirely too late already.

**JUNE 19th, 1885**

As I promised, I went to see Lily Seely on my way into Sweet Grass. I had only planned to stop in, but she said Matt had gone to Bozeman overnight, and she craved company, so I stayed. She pulled out her good china and showed me the tea and the rum cake some relations had sent her from Pittsburgh. "This is a special occasion, I think!" she said and was positively giddy.

I hadn't been to the Seely place before. It's much smaller than ours. Matt Seely was a bachelor so long he didn't need much room. Lily has tried to make it nice. She had some furniture shipped in from back East, but you can't hide the fact that it is nothing but an old shack with a sod roof.

We sat quietly, neither one having much to say to the other. Maybe I'm used to drinking coffee and tea that tastes like it's been poured through a dirty sock, but I didn't think much of the expensive tea she'd had sent to her. 'You've fixed this place up real nice," I finally said, just to have something to say.

Her eyes lit up, and she looked around. "Do you think so? Well, I've tried." Then her face got cloudy, and there was only the ringing sound of her tea spoon against the side of her cup as she stirred. She glanced out the window, I guess to see if Matt was lurking around the corner.

She breathed out a sigh and then shuddered a little like she was breathing out a heavy burden. "I was in love back in Pittsburgh." At first I thought she was referring to Matt, but then when she looked at me and her eyes were teary, I knew that is not who she meant at all.

She brushed away her tears with the heel of her pale little hand and went on. "He was a Jew. Our families wouldn't let us marry. We weren't allowed to see each other or even speak once they found out. I thought we would find a way to be together, and then I heard he had gotten married to one of his own people."

She looked wistful for a second and gave me a little smile that had no humor in it. "Matt had come to Pittsburgh to do some business with my father. He would talk about the wide open prairie and how the sky gets so red before a thunderstorm. It just seemed so far away and so different than Pittsburgh. He came to me and said he needed a wife, and I might do if I didn't complain too much."

There was no need to tell the rest of her story. She had said yes to his proposal, if you could call it that. She sipped at her tea some more. "I haven't complained once," she said, and her voice was as bitter as the remains of my tea.

I thought about her all the way into Sweet Grass and back. She reminds me so much of Mama, both so gentle-born and delicate. They were both in love with men they shouldn't have loved. Mama defied her Beacon Hill family and married the tall, handsome Irish immigrant, and they tried in vain to scrape by in Boston after my grandparents cut her off without a cent. I can still remember the day Pa came home and said he'd decided we would go to Montana Territory and start all over again. Mama turned white as a ghost, but she just bowed her head, and that was the end of it.

It was hard for her, but I think she loved him until the heat and the cold and the dust drove her half-mad. She went the other half after he died, and I knew she wouldn't be much longer for the world. She gave up. That is the only way to explain it.

I hope Lily Seely has more of a fighting chance.

**JUNE 20th, 1885**

The weather was glorious today. The air was thick and sweet with the perfume of newly sprung flowers. The sun is coming up so much earlier, so I had finished all of my chores before lunchtime.

Lily's baby isn't due for some months, but I was feeling optimistic, so I decided to make a doll and hope the baby is a girl! The doll will be made out of a pair of Pa's old red long underwear. I hope Lily isn't too horrified by that, but Pa isn't going to be needing them, and they were just taking up space in the chest.

After a while, my hands were cramped from the sewing , and I was beginning to feel a bit restless, so I decided I would walk down to the pond to pick wildflowers for Mama and Pa's graves.

The sun was at its height, and it warmed my skin. I unplaited my hair so it tumbled down my back and swang loose while I walked, and I picked flowers all the way down the hill. The weeds have grown up around their graves (has it been so long since I last was here?), so I pulled them away and laid the flowers there. I miss them terribly some days, and some days, like today, there are too many blessings to feel anything but joy.

I wasn't keen to return to my chores, so I looked around to see if anyone was coming, and seeing no one, I hitched my dress up, kicked off my shoes, and undid my stockings. Others would be mortified at such behavior, I am sure. I lay on the grass there under the weeping willow, with my skirt pulled up to my bare knees and my face turned up to sky.

I think I had begun to drift when I heard the sound of whistling coming from up the hill. I propped myself up on my elbows and narrowed my eyes against the bright sun. It was Woody, coming cheerfully down the bank.

He didn't see me at first, and I watched as he stood at the pond's edge. He kneeled down and drew his hand through the water, sending a little splash into the air. Apparently finding the temperature to his liking, he sat down on the edge of the pond and began to unlace his boots.

He kicked away his boots and then stood, still whistling to himself, while he pulled one suspender and then the other from his shoulder. His shirt came over his head, and I could see how the June sun had already bronzed his skin. Knowing how nervous I seem to make him, I thought it only fair that I make my presence known before he lost his pants! I made a rustling noise in the grass.

When he saw me, he grabbed up his shirt and pulled it over his head as quick as he could, saying, "Miss Jo! I didn't know you were there!"

"I must have dozed off," I lied and rubbed at my eyes to cover the lie. "I didn't hear you coming down the hill. You startled me just now." I pointed over to the graves then. "I just came to put some flowers there."

He looked over and nodded sadly, and he must have been reminded of his own parents who had not been dead long. He was quiet for a bit and slowly came around to where I still sat on the other side of the pond. The sun had started its descent, and the spot under the tree was cool and shady.

Woody seemed to notice then that my legs were bare, and he looked away while I discreetly pulled down my skirt. After a bit he spoke. "This is beautiful country, Miss Jo."

"My mother used to say that she felt suffocated here. I never understood how someone could turn in a complete circle and see the horizon in all directions yet still feel suffocated," I said to him.

He sank down next to me on his knees and looked at me with a curious look that I still cannot quite decipher. He smiled then and reached a hand toward me. "You've got some..." he started to say, and then cut off his words. I could feel his fingers in my hair, and he pulled back a piece of hay that had gotten caught there.

He tossed it down next to me on the ground, and then he impulsively reached down and plucked a flower from the bank of the pond and tucked it behind my ear.

I didn't know what to say. It was such a familiar thing, and it caught me by surprise. Him too, by the looks of it. If he didn't regret it then, he certainly did when we both looked up to see Pete and Eddie standing on the bank looking down at us.

Woody scrambled to his feet and hurried off without another word. I don't know how much they saw but from the way Pete glowered at him, I think they saw quite enough.


	6. Chapter 6

**JULY 4th, 1885**

Independence Day! I begin to look forward to this day every year starting on July 5th. Since my farm is the center point of the county, the picnic has always been here as long as I can remember. I was up early to roll out the crust for a huckleberry and a chokecherry pie, which would be my contribution to the picnic. It was a perfect day. The sky was blue and dotted with billowing white clouds.

The neighbors started to arrive before noon, and they came from all over the county, each with a food basket more elaborate than the one before. The boys must have smelled the food, and they all suddenly appeared looking so stiff and shiny in their best clothes and their hair combed down. Nigel Townsend closed the store for the day and rode out with some folks from Sweet Grass, and there were even a few from as far as Bozeman. The table was groaning under the weight of all the food they brought.

There were blankets spread all over the grass, and the afternoon started off, as usual, with Henry Slokum giving a dramatic recitation of the Declaration of Independence in stentorian tones. I sat next to Nigel, and we kicked each other's shins to keep from laughing until Dr. Macy gave us a disapproving look, although he couldn't help but laugh himself. Then we ate before the food could spoil in the sun, and my pies were declared the best there, which put quite a few noses out of joint.

All of the young men and boys played ball for awhile then, while the young unmarried ladies of the county shaded themselves and clapped appreciatively and giggled and tittered among themselves.

I knew that Henry Slokum would try and find me, so I did my best to avoid him. I sat with Dr. Macy for awhile, although he has grown more melancholy with each passing year since he lost his wife and daughter in the measles epidemic. He sipped at a flask of whiskey and sat in a chair with his head tilted back to the sky, saying very little, but I know he didn't find my company unwelcome. (I suppose after he left he headed over to the woman who runs the saloon, the one who took on that fancy French name. Renee! Whoever heard of a woman named Renee! Her real name must be Gertrude or Hortense, and she thinks a name like Renee makes her sound more exotic. I know most folks are scandalized by the two of them, but it seems to give him some comfort. I think he needs it.)

The afternoon was beginning to cool off, and the increasingly disorganized game had broken up. Someone called out that there would be games starting: blindman's buff and cat-in-the-corner and drop-the-handkerchief. I stood up to join in, when I felt Henry Slokum's hand on my arm.

"Let's leave the games to the young people," he said with emphasis just like that. "You and I have important matters to discuss."

He led me a few steps away before I could have a chance to protest. "I wondered if you had had an opportunity to think over my proposal, Miss Cavanaugh." He looked at me with a reptilian smile on his face.

Proposal? Ha! "Yes, Mr. Slokum. And as tempting an offer as it was, I must decline," I said as sweetly as I could manage.

"I think you will find that maidenhood is a prize that loses its value the longer it is kept. Look," he said pointing at to where the others were shrieking with laughter at a game of drop-the-handkerchief. "When was the last time any of the young men in the county came to court you?"

I didn't want any of those preening fools, but his words stung all the same. "The answer is no," I said firmly, and the smile melted from his mean old face.

"I see. That is most unfortunate."

"My misfortune or yours, Mr. Slokum?" I asked before I could bite my tongue.

And then the smile had crept back onto his face, and it made my blood run cold. He slapped his hat onto his head and took a few steps away before giving me a little bow, saying. "Good day, Miss Cavanaugh."

He got on his horse and rode away without another word. I watched the games out on the grass, and a black mood began to settle over me. The McGuire girl was there with her blonde ringlets all tied up with ribbons. She took a spill during blindman's bluff and pretended to twist her ankle so one of the boys had to pick her up and carry her and set her under the tree while the others followed behind like ducklings. I was glad when the dance music started and she was left there pouting under the tree with her "twisted ankle."

Dr. Macy played the fiddle and Nigel the Jew's harp, and there was a harmonica, too. My feet never touched the ground, I don't think! I never had a shortage of dance partners. I wish Henry Slokum had not left, since he thinks me such an old spinster. The McGuire girl healed quickly from her injury, apparently, because I saw her dancing with Woody at one point. He must have said something terribly witty, because she batted her eyes and covered her mouth daintily with her little hand.

The musicians struck up a reel, and there was a dash to find new partners. I felt a hand on my wrist then, and Woody and I danced that last dance together.

"You promised to save me a dance, Miss Jo," he said to me with a smile, and then he spun me round and round until everything was all a blur. He put his hand in the small of my back to steady me, and we started to fly! I have to say I was sorry when it was over.

The neighbors began to stream home as the sun set on the long day. I was exhausted and my feet were tired! It was, all in all, a wonderful day, and not even Henry Slokum could dampen my spirits.

**JULY 5th, 1885**

In the field this morning, I saw that Woody had a black eye and Pete a split lip. I can only wonder what happened, but I can guess.

After a pleasant day yesterday, it has become unbearably hot. I hope for a rain to cool things off.

**JULY 10th, 1885**

After supper, Pete dawdled at the house. He shuffled his feet and hemmed and hawed, until I said, "Is there something on your mind, Pete?"

His face turned red as if he were about to bust, and then he blurted out, "Have you been displeased with my work this past year. Miss Jo?"

I wanted to say I found him hot-tempered and stubborn, but I didn't. I said, "Well, no, Pete."

"Well, then why do you favor him? Leaving him in charge when we're in the field. Sending him to Sweet Grass or Bozeman to do your errands. Up here late at nights, just the two of you."

I knew who he was speaking about. "You do a fine job for me, Pete, but Woody has a good head, and I trust his judgment. We sit up late at night talking about crops and where to find the money to feed us all." I said truthfully.

He harumphed at that. "I bet that ain't all," he muttered. "People are starting to talk, Miss Jo."

"I don't care about those busybodies and their gossip, Pete. You know that. Woody and I are just friends. Same as me and you or me and Eddie or any of the other boys," I said.

He was quiet for a minute, and then he squared his shoulders and looked me in the eye. "I'm leaving, Miss Jo."

I blinked and looked up at him. "Where are you going?"

"California. They've opened up a new lode."

"Gold?" I wasn't surprised, it being Pete, who never did think anything through. I could have put up an argument, but I was just too tired. "I won't beg you to stay."

"It wouldn't do any good, Miss Jo. My mind's made up. I know when it is time to move on. I'll stay until the end of the week."

And that was all. He turned and left me to finish cleaning up from supper. So, one less hand. I'm sure we'll manage.

**JULY 20th, 1885**

We've been managing well without Pete, and there is less trouble, that's for sure. Today's news was not good, though.

Trey had gone into town, and when he came back, he could barely look me in the eye. I went to him while he was baling hay in the barn and asked him flat out to tell me what was going on. He looked very sheepish for a moment.

"I ran into Henry Slokum today in Sweet Grass."

I suddenly had a sinking feeling. "Go on," I said, although I knew exactly what he was going to tell me.

"He just bought the old Jeffers homestead. His place has almost doubled in size in the last year. He said he was looking for some new hands. I said I already had a job, but when he told me what he paid..." He knit his eyebrows together. "His wages are good, Miss Jo. Real good. And I'd like to buy my own place, someday."

There was nothing to say. I nodded, "I'd pay you more if I could, Trey."

"I know that," he said almost apologetically. We were quiet for a minute while he went back to his baling.

"So, what did you tell Henry Slokum?" I said, breaking the silence.

"I told him I'd think about it."

I sighed. "If you go now, you can make it to the Slokum place by supper."

He turned to me with his eyes wide, shaking his head. "Oh, no, Miss Jo, I didn't mean..."

I held up a hand to stop him. "It's all right, Trey. The sooner we get used to your leaving, the better off we'll be."

He nodded at me once, and I left him there. At least he waited until I was nearly back to the house before bolting out of the barn and fetching his things from the bunkhouse.

Another hand gone, although if it doesn't rain soon, it will scarcely matter. There won't be any crops to harvest.

**JULY 23rd, 1885**

Another blow. The afternoon sun had gone behind some clouds (not rain clouds, however), so I made supper for the boys, and they were eating on the long table by the barn. I could tell something was brewing from the way Eddie and Sid kept trading looks, and then the table rattled as Sid must have kicked Eddie in the shin, and he let out a hiss.

"Miss Jo, Henry Slokum offered me and Sid a job today." Just like that.

I looked over at Eddie and Sid. Sid was hanging his head in shame. "I see. So, I've gone from five hands to one in the space of a month." I gestured over to Woody, who only looked down at his place and continued eating. I had let the others go without a fight, and now I was angry. Henry Slokum means to ruin me, I think. If he can't get my land by way of marriage, he will do it this way, one hand at a time.

"He pays almost twice what you do, Miss Jo."

"He offers you a few more pennies, and all of a sudden, you've got stars in your eyes. Have you ever seen Henry Slokum's other hired hands? He works them no better than dogs. You work dawn until dusk and then you get fed slop I wouldn't even leave for the pigs. Is that what you want?"

The two of them sat gawping at me with their mouths hanging open.

"Go. Go now," I said to them. They both tried to mutter something, but I slapped my hand down on the table. "Go!" I said.

They both rose and stumbled away as quickly as they could leaving me to sit there alone with Woody. I looked up at him, and his eyes were full of sympathy. I shouldn't have taken things out on him. I shouldn't.

"What are you waiting for? Didn't you hear? Henry Slokum pays almost twice what I can." He didn't say anything. "You need to go into Sweet Grass more often," I spat. "You might run into Slokum, and he can offer you a job."

"He already has," he said softly, and I blinked at him in surprise. "I told him no."

I suppose that should have been of comfort to me, and it is now that I reflect on it, but all I could think then was that my crops were failing, and I had been left with one hired hand to do the work of five.

I put my elbows on the table and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes and cried a little. I heard Woody push the chair from the table, and I could feel the air move around me as he rose and came to stand next to me. I could hear his even breathing.

"Miss Jo..." he said quietly, but I shook my head. He stood there a moment, and then I could sense that he had turned and left me alone there.


	7. Chapter 7

**JULY 30th, 1885**

It is just we two.

It seems pointless to have two separate meals (one for me and one for the hands) so I've been asking Woody to join me when I eat. He stays after supper, and we talk about the happenings of the day. Sometimes he will tell long, elaborate, comical stories about Wisconsin or something he's read. He will get so excited he will jump up from the chair and act the story out with different voices for each of the characters, and I will laugh until my sides ache. Other times, he seems to sense when I just want to sit quietly with no talk at all.

Tonight, we sat for a long while. I darned socks, and he read. Finally, he shut the book up, and rose and said he should be going.

I stood, too, and walked with him over to the door. He turned then to face me, said good night and then looked at me with something very like longing. I thought for a moment he might kiss me. It surprised me. I drew in my breath and took a step away from him without thinking about it.

It seemed to embarrass him. He mumbled good night again and hurried into the darkness.

Woody is my dear friend, but that is all. I certainly hope I have not given him the wrong idea about that.

**JULY 31st, 1885**

No rain. The tops of the corn stalks have withered and dried. The ground is hard and cracked, and everything and everyone is covered with a thin layer of red dust.

That is all the energy I have to write tonight.

**AUGUST 5th, 1885**

We hired a new man today. He seemed to suddenly appear at my front door from nowhere. There was no horse. He had walked all the way from Sweet Grass, where Nigel had told him I was looking for help.

He is a funny fellow. He is dark-skinned, with great, serious black eyes and black hair. He said later when we talked at supper that he had no idea of his parentage. He might be part Negro or Mexican or Chinese from the men who were brought here to build the railroad or something else altogether. All he knew was that he had lived among the Crow people who have a settlement north of here for as long as he could remember.

I asked his name, and he said something back to me, a long name in a language I didn't recognize. He just shrugged and said, "They call me Bug."

I sent him down to the barn to see Woody, who came up a bit later, having left Bug to some chores. "What do you think?" I asked.

Woody rocked his head from side to side. "He's a good worker, but I don't know. He's Crow, or at least he lived with them. People around here don't trust the Indians. If you hire him, they'll say..."

I cut him off. "What is it you've seen in me that makes you think I care what people say?"

He grinned. "Well, there hasn't exactly been a stampede to the door with men looking for work."

'I'd say we've hired us a new hand, then."

Bug worked long and hard all afternoon without a complaint, and when I called the two of them up to supper, he seemed to come reluctantly, as if he coldn't bear to walk away from an unfinished job,

Woody and I tried to pull a conversation out of him, but we could have sooner pulled teeth from him. He talked a little about the Crow and how he had never known his real parents. Times have been hard on the Crow settlement, so he left to look for work. He had been turned away everywhere else, and we could all guess why. (I've never understood what the color of a man's skin has to do with his ability to do an honest day's work). Bug found himself in Sweet Grass, and Nigel told him he was certain that Jo Cavanaugh would not turn him away. I am glad Nigel holds me in such high regard.

After supper, Woody said he'd show him where to sleep, but Bug just held up his hand and said very solemnly that he would be happiest sleeping in the barn. He seemed to have his mind made up, and headed out with a little bow. Woody stayed for a bit. We drank the last of the coffee and watched the sunset. It glowed purple and red and orange, and we thought for sure it might rain, but it didn't.

I am hopeful that with this new arrival, our fortunes will begin to improve.

Pete was right. I did not make Bug a pie.

**AUGUST 6th, 1885**

I had a very strange dream last night. I was in a house I didn't quite recognize. I was wearing a grand yellow gown. Very old-fashioned. Woody was in the dream, too. He was wearing knee breeches and a blue boat. He looked the same, but his hair was longer and tied back away from his face. I had the sense that he was leaving and would not be back. The dream was so brief, but I had such a sad feeling when I woke that stayed with me all morning. Very odd.

No rain.

**AUGUST 8th, 1885**

Still no rain. I have lost count of how long it has been.

Lily Seely came to stay today. Matt has gone all the way to Ft. Laramie on business, and he didn't want to leave her by herself in her condition. If I were unkind, I would say that was the first considerate thought the man has ever had.

They came rattling up the road first thing in the morning, and we were all in the midst of our morning chores. Woody was bringing in a load of wood for the cooking fire, and I, with my apron full of eggs, had just left Bug working in the barn

The sun was already blazing. Lily looked like a wilted flower and stepped gingerly down from the wagon. I was shocked at her appearance. Her skin was sallow, and she had dark hollows in her cheeks. She must have seen me check when she came down, because she flushed red and immediately said, "You needn't worry about me eating you out of house and home, Jo. I haven't been able to even look at food in months!"

I slipped my arm around her and pulled her away from Matt's hearing while he brought her case down from the wagon. "You're not past the sickness?" She quickly shook her head, and I tried not to look alarmed. "Well, we'll try and fatten you up anyway."

She said her goodbyes to Matt, who gave no indication of his date of return, and then insisted she help with the chores.

"I can manage. Why don't you go inside and put your feet up?" I said.

"No, I insist. I'd like to make myself useful." She picked up a bucket by the door and turned as if to head toward the well. I heard the bucket fall to the hard ground with a clatter, and I called over to her.

"Are you all right, Lily?"

She pressed her hand to her forehead. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just a little..." She couldn't finish her sentence, as her eyes had fluttered closed, and she had begun to sink towards the ground.

I reached out for her, futilely, and opened my mouth to call her name. Woody dropped his armload of wood and took a step toward her. Before he could halfway reach her, Bug had appeared out of nowhere and was beside her in a flash. She collapsed gently in his arms.

I hadn't had a chance to speak, and Woody and I both watched dumbly as Bug carried her into the house. We followed them in to where Bug had placed her in a chair by the table. He knelt beside her with her pale hand held in his.

"Water. She needs water," he said without taking his eyes from her, and Woody obediently poured her a cup from the pitcher by the stove.

She opened her eyes then, and I went to her. "Lily? Are you all right? Did you hit your head?"

"She didn't hit her head," Bug said evenly. No, she didn't, I thought to myself. He had caught her before she could reach the ground.

Lily blinked her eyes and looked around. "O, goodness! I must have fainted," she said sheepishly.

I took the glass from Woody and passed it to her. "Here, drink this. Just sit here by the door. There's a cool breeze coming in. You shouldn't be outside in this hot sun in your condition," I chided her mildly.

"I just didn't want to be a burden. I know if things are as bad around here as they are at our place, you can barely afford to feed yourselves, let alone a guest."

It was the truth, but I gave her a wave. "Never mind that. You stay inside, and Bug can..." I looked around to see that Bug had quietly slipped away and was heading back to the barn.

I sent Lily to lie down, which she did without argument. Later, while I was doing wash, Bug crept up to me so quietly, he gave me a start.

"Is Miss Lily all right?" he asked, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Bug! O, yes. She's fine. She was just feeling faint is all."

He gave a little sigh of relief, and I waited for him to say something. He didn't and left me to the washing without another word.

When Lily rose, we sneaked away from the house, slipped off our shoes, and waded into the pond up to our ankles, giggling like schoolgirls all the while.

**AUGUST 9th, 1885**

Lily has wisely decided to stay off of her feet for the time being, or at least until there is a break in this ungodly hot weather. Bug fetches for her and sits with her during the day. She must possess some gift that the rest of us don't, because every time I look over at them, their heads are pressed together in conversation.

Since Bug disappears as soon as the dishes are cleared, Lily has been joining me and Woody by the fire after supper. Tonight, when it started to grow late, Woody stood and rose the way he does every night, and I followed him to the door the way I do to see him out.

"Good night, Miss Lily." He turned toward me. We stood face to face again, and I admit I felt a little nervous flutter as he looked at me in that same awkward way. "Well, good night, Jo."

"Good night, Woody," I said, and I realized I could barely hear myself speak. He hurried off, and when I looked back at Lily, she was grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary.

"Why, Jo Cavanaugh! I'd say Woody is sweet on you!"

I sat down and busied myself with my sewing. "We are only friends, Lily."

"Maybe that's what you think, but he thinks something else altogether." She smiled and shook her finger at me.

"He doesn't," I insisted.

She could barely contain herself and burst out into a hearty laugh. "I think you're sweet on him, too!"

"Don't be ridiculous. He is my friend and my employee, and that is all."

"O, you are! You are sweet on him! And why not?" She laughed some more and slapped at her thigh.

I didn't say another word but kept on at my sewing while Lily sat beside me, bursting occasionally into spontaneous fits of laughter.

Her delicate condition has made her silly.

**AUGUST 10th, 1885**

Another hot, dry day, and none of us seemed to have the energy to get out of bed. A dark mood has infected us all, brought on by the desperate situation. No rain. How long can it last? We are conserving our precious supplies of water. There is no end in sight to this.

I didn't have the physical or mental strength to cook over a hot fire, so we had cold beef and bread for supper.

There is nothing left to write.

xxx

Miraculous! My hands are shaking with joy as I write this. Everyone had readied for bed, despite the thin sliver of sunlight that still hovered above the horizon. All was still and quiet, and then it came. A soft distant rumbling, so soft that Lily and I sat up in our bed and strained for it. My heart began to pound, but I could not let myself think it.

"Did you hear that?" Lily whispered to me. I could only nod. And there it was again! A long, low rumble. We both jumped from our bed, and I opened the door. A grey cloud hung over us, and there was the soft beating of rain as it soaked into the parched earth.

Rain! It was raining! A slow trickle at first, then the skies opened up on us. Woody had come out of the bunkhouse, hurriedly pulling his pants on. Then there was Bug standing a the barn door, and we all stepped out into the storm as it pelted us with hard little raindrops.

There were tears and shouting and laughter, and we ran around feeling the joyous sting of the drops against our bare skin. Lily kicked up a spray from a puddle that had formed in a rut and covered us all with mud, but we didn't care! We laughed some more and we all hugged each other. We joined hands and shouted until we were soaked through to the skin.

I shrieked when Woody came to me and gathered me into his arms and spun me around with my feet swinging out behind me. He was smiling up at me, and suddenly I bent my head down and kissed him, just a quick little kiss of joy on his lips.

As Lily finally turned in, she looked over at me with a grin and a raised her eyebrow. I knew what she was hinting at, but I don't care. I would have kissed Henry Slokum full on the mouth if he'd been there, too.

Still and all. It was a very nice kiss.


	8. Chapter 8

**AUGUST 11th, 1885**

It rained all night and on and off all day. How glorious! The ground has opened up and drunk its fill and is green once again!

Lily has blossomed along with it, and there is a spark in her eye, and her cheeks have already grown plump and rosy in just a few days time.

After supper, I expected Woody to stay and sit with me and Lily, as he has been doing, but he mumbled something about some work he needed to do and left.

I was baffled, I have to say and stood there at the door completely flummoxed. When I turned to Lily, she was giving me another of her knowing looks.

"What's gotten into him?" I mumbled when I finally sat down beside her.

She laughed breezily. "You've got him so he doesn't know if he's coming or going. Can you blame him? You did kiss him."

"Oh, that," I said. "It was just in fun. I suppose I got carried away."

"But he doesn't know that," she said, suddenly serious. "And why should it be just in fun? I know he's your employee, a hired hand. But how many times have I heard you say how you don't care what others think? Anyway, Woody Hoyt is a fine catch." She leaned in a little to me, and her voice dropped. "Don't you deserve to be happy, Jo?"

"Who says I'm not happy?" was what I finally said. What I wanted to say was that I'm sure she thought Matthew Seely was a "fine catch," too, but I couldn't have been so cruel.

"Haven't you ever been in love, Jo?" she asked me, and her voice was dreamy.

I had had my share of suitors when I was younger. I thought I had been in love once or twice, but looking back, I was not. "Love is a disappointment," I said.

She chuckled. "O, you don't really believe that, do you?" She went on with a faraway look in her eye. "I know my heart belonged to someone else when I met Matt, but even now there are times when Matt curls up around me and we're like two spoons in a drawer, and I feel..." She chuckled and blushed a little. "And now I'm carrying a baby," she cried out and grabbed my hand in hers, her eyes rimmed with tears. "O, Jo! I can't imagine never knowing what those things feel like!"

I didn't mean to be cold, but I pulled my hand from hers and picked up my needlework and let the subject end there.

**AUGUST 12th, 1885**

Matt Seely came to fetch Lily in the wagon today. She cried and pressed her handkerchief to her mouth as they drove off, and there were a few tears in my eyes, too. I was surprised to find how much I've missed the company of a woman my own age. I am sorry she has to leave, and sorrier still she has to leave with Matt.

Woody still will not look me in the eye for some foolish reason, and it has been quite lonely with no one to talk to. To distract myself, I went into Sweet Grass to fetch the mail.

Tallulah Simmons was in Nigel's store buying a bolt of fabric. I said "hello" to her, and she said nothing. I thought she didn't hear, so I repeated it. She looked through me like I was invisible and then walked right past me out the store!

Nigel was frowning when I looked back his way. "It's that man you've hired. You've brought an Indian in their midst, and there's sure too be trouble, they say."

"But he's not an Indian!" I sputtered.

Nigel shook his head sadly. "It matters little, Miss Jo. He's different. That's all they need to see."

I paid for my things and left, only to see that Tallulah Simmons in the street with her mouth pressed against some matron's ear. They looked away and at least had the decency to pretend they weren't talking about me. Others weren't so decent. I could feel the eyes of passersby on me and the heat of their stares on my back as I turned.

A man's voice reached out to me like icy fingers. "You'll bring trouble on his all, Jo Cavanaugh!"

I whipped around with fire in my eyes. "Who said that!" I yelled at them with venom. They all turned away and went about their business. "Cowards!" I hissed at them.

My eyes fell on Eddie and Trey, who were loaded bags onto their wagon for Henry Slokum. They looked away in shame when they saw me.

I had started to shake with anger, I admit, but I held my head up as I rode away, even when I heard some whisper to another, "Living out there all alone. She's crazy like her mother."

I charged past Woody and Bug when I returned. I could hear Woody behind me asking if everything was all right, but I didn't answer. I ran inside and sat down on the edge of the bed with my fists clenched until I could breath slowly.

Bug musn't know what I heard in town, although I am sure he is already aware of the talk.

**AUGUST 15th, 1885**

I made a cherry pie for Lily. She seemed to have a sweet tooth when she was here, so I thought she might like it. I sent it with Bug, with my compliments. He has taken a shine to her, I think, and he was glad to do it.

He was not yet back by supper, and when he finally returned he said he'd found that Matt had ridden into Bozeman for the day, so he decided to stay at the Seely place to help Lily with the chores.

Anyway, she sent back a nice note with Bug thanking me for the pie. I wish Matt had brought her here so we could keep an eye on her if he was going to be gone all day. I think I will send Bug again tomorrow to make sure Matt returned. I will tell him to bring her back here if he ever finds here alone again.

**AUGUST 20th, 1885**

Woody lingered tonight after supper. I didn't expect it, as there's been a bit of a strain between us, the cause of which had been lost on me.

He stood leaning in the door while I cleared away the table, watching what I did but not speaking.

"It's a fine night," he said after a long quietness.

I stood next to him in the door while I took it in. Summer is waning, and there was a warm, gentle breeze coming up from the prairie. The moon was full and bright, and its light bathed everything in a glowing blue. All the stars in the sky seemed to have come out. "Yes, it is," I said simply, and it was.

He offered me the crook of his elbow with little smile, and I took it. We walked down the bank to the pond, and the moon's reflection danced over its surface. No one said much. I gathered my skirt under me and sat against the weeping willow, while he dropped pebbles into the water.

"What happened?" he asked and pointed over at the graves.

I sighed and took a deep breath. "Pa died when a wagon turned over and crushed him. Mama died a few years later. She had stopped eating, stopped speaking. She spent most of her days sitting here or by the fire. One morning, she just didn't wake up."

He was quiet a minute and then wandered away a piece.

"A man could make his life here," he said.

I didn't know he'd grown so attached to the territory. Most hired hands work a season or two and move on.

"Did you ever think of getting married, Miss Jo?" he said in a way that I couldn't quite tell if it was an invitation or a request for information.

"I like my life as it is, Woody. Marriage is not what I want," I said back to him.

He walked over and sat next to me against the tree. I was reminded suddenly of the afternoon months ago when we met here, and he tucked the wildflower in my hair. I was glad he could not see me blush pink in the darkness. "And what is it you want, Jo?"

"Why, no more than what I already have," I said.

"Is that what you really want?" he teased. "Or is that what you just say you want?"

I found I could not answer but sat in thought with my chin on my knees.

He stood and offered me his hand. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet. There was a rock there, and I lost my footing. With a little cry, I stumbled forward, my hands reaching out into the darkness.

But then he had me, his arms pulling me to him, his hands on my waist. I could see his face awash in the eerie blue of the light, and I found that I could neither move nor speak. He lifted one hand to my face, and pressed it there. I thought he might kiss me, and O! I daresay I wanted him to! I wanted to feel his lips on mine for just that one moment, and my heart skittered with anticipation.

"We should be getting back," he said, and his voice was rough.

I nodded, and we quickly hurried back to the house, where he left me with not another word.

O, what have I done! I have realized how much I have come to rely on him in just a few months. He is a good worker, and a good and true friend. A silly stroll in the moonlight musn't change that.

The subject will not come up again.

**AUGUST 23rd, 1885**

I must write this all down so I will never, ever forget, although I think it will be forever etched in my brain.

I sent Woody into Sweet Grass and asked if on his way home from town, he could stop by the Seely place to see how Lily is faring. Bug was disappointed, I think, not to have the opportunity to see Lily, but I did not want to send him into that nest of vipers in town if I didn't have to.

Woody left after breakfast, and it was a trip that should have taken no more than half a day. I had sent him with biscuits and some cheese to eat along the way, but I half expected him back by midday for a meal.

Still, I did not worry, as any number of things can delay on the road to town. I hoped for a moment that he had found Lily alone and had decided to stay, but then I remembered I had told both of them to be sure and bring her back here if they ever found that to be the case.

It is not in my nature to worry, but I do admit that I had begun to fear for the worse.

"I'm sure he's fine, Miss Jo," Bug said solemnly while we ate our supper, but I wasn't sure if he believed it.

I could feel a sense of dread build as we heard a rumbling in the distance. There was a thunderstorm coming, and we stood in the door while we watched the thick grey clouds sweep in.

"It's heading in from the west. If he's on the road, he's already caught up in it," I was surprised to hear how my voice had risen to a thin, strained pitch.

"There are some abandoned houses on the way from the Seely place. I'm sure he must have taken shelter," Bug said helpfully, but I could see there was concern in his eyes, too. "As soon as it clears, he'll start out again."

We sat there together in the house, waiting for him to return. I could neither sit nor sew nor talk. I paced for more than an hour, looking outside for signs of Woody. The sky was black, and in the wind, the trees bent almost to breaking.

"Miss Jo," Bug finally said in a gentle voice. "It's late. I'm sure it will be clear by morning, and he'll be back. Why don't you sleep?"

"I can't sleep while he's out there in this," I said, no longer willing to hide my anguish. I knew then as sure as I breathe that there was something dreadfully wrong.

Bug looked at me helplessly, and we were answered then by the sound of hooves drawing close. I dashed outside, not caring about the inevitable drenching. It was Woody's horse approaching, walking too slowly in this weather. There was a storm of Biblical proportions overhead. Why did Woody not race him home?

I could see then with mounting fear the reason why. Woody sat hunched in the saddle, his head down, and he did not respond when I called out to him.

"Where have you been!" I called out to him with tears in my voice. I didn't care if I sounded like a scold. There was no answer.

Bug had gone over to take the reins as the horse slowed to a halt. I could see his eyes grow wide, and he turned to me. "Miss Jo!" he called out, and I raced over.

Woody slid from the horse, and Bug and I barely caught him before he fell to the ground. "Get him into the house! Now!" I yelled to Bug.

We stumbled inside, me at his feet, Bug at his head, and we carried him over to my bed. He was moaning and shaking with cold, but his forehead burned. "He's got a fever," I called out to Bug. "Bring me the lamp so I can see!"

Bug nodded and raced over by the stove to get the lamp. I reached over to pull off his rain-slicked jacket. His shirt underneath was saturated through with the damp, and I tried to lift his shoulders off the bed to pull the shirt off from under him. He cried out in pain, and then there was nothing. His eyes flickered shut, and his head lolled to one side on the pillow.

Bug was back with the lamp, then, and drew it across the bed. His shirt was not soaked through with rain at all.

"Lord, no..." I hissed under my breath, and pulled the shirt open. There was a wound on his left side just above the waist of his pants.

"He's been shot," Bug said gravely, and I nodded once in fearful agreement.

We did what we could, cleaning and wrapping his wound. He is still unconscious, yet he moans in pain even in his sleep. Bug has set off in the rain to ride all the way into Bozeman to fetch Dr. Macy. I do not expect them back before tomorrow.

I dare not even think who did this any more than I can dare wonder what I would do without him.

I will sit here by his side until Dr. Macy and Bug return, and I will pray that Woody lasts until then.

What else can I do?


	9. Chapter 9

**AUGUST 24th, 1885**

I hardly moved from the chair beside Woody's bed but to sponge his forehead to keep him cool. He writhes in pain and drifts in and out of conscious. His fever still rages. My knees are skinned and raw from my prayers for God to spare him.

It was past supper, and I was sitting at his side trying to keep my fingers busy when I heard the approach of the wagon. I let my mending fall to the floor and my shoulders pitched forward with relieved sobs, but I made my eyes dry by the time Dr. Macy and Bug entered the house.

"The wound itself isn't serious, but there's an infection," the doctor said shaking his head grimly when he finally left Woody's side. I had suspected as much, but it was a blow all the same. He gave me some poultice for the wound and an infusion to draw the fever.

"Will he be all right?" I dared myself to ask.

"We should know more in the morning," was all he could say, and poor Bug, who had ridden almost 24 hours solemnly climbed back into the wagon to return Dr. Macy to Bozeman. I fear for his safety.

I tried to get Woody to drink the infusion, but he would not take it, and I cried in frustration. The poultice seems to soothe him, though, and I applied some to the wound later. He reached out in his feverdream and grabbed my wrist until my hand turned red. Then he collapsed against the bed, and lay so still, that I held my breath and feared the worst. He stirred then, and I allowed myself to sink back into my chair with relief.

I have lost all track of time. I will put this away for a few hours and try to sleep.

**AUGUST 25th, 1885**

No change. The fever still rages. He drank some of Dr. Macy's infusion, and then slept for most of the day, but later, he was moaning in delirium.

Bug returned and has collapsed in the barn with exhaustion.

I have not slept, nor will I.

**AUGUST 26th, 1885**

All hope seems lost. He has drained of all color, and his breathing is shallow and uneven. It is only a matter of time. I sit and wait for the end.

For the first time in my life, I hate this God-forsaken place.

**AUGUST 27th, 1885**

I sat at his bed most of the day. I have neither eaten nor slept, but I kept a vigil. No man should die alone, least of all this man.

It was after noon, when I went to fetch a cool rag to wipe his forehead. I thought I heard something, a stirring, but I ignored. Then again it came. My name! "Jo..."

I knelt at his bedside and took his hand in mine. "Yes, it's me, Woody! It's me!" but I could scarcely talk through the tears.

"I'm thirsty..." he said, and I fairly flew outside to fetch him some cold water, which I helped him to drink.

His eyelids began to drop, and he drifted back into a sleep. But his fever has broken! That is the important thing! He will be all right.

He is still sleeping, and very soundly, too. I suppose now I should sleep, too, but my mind races too much!

**AUGUST 30th, 1885**

Woody has awakened, and he seems to be past danger, but he is still quite weak that he can barely lift a spoon to his mouth. His confinement has made him restless and irritable, and when I was feeding him some broth, he barked at me that it was too hot. Being at the brink of exhaustion, I barked back that he could damn well feed himself.

He softened, and reached out for my arm. He had the most earnest look on his face, and he said very gently, "I'm sorry, Jo."

Jo! The familiarity of it sent a shiver through me. Jo!

**AUGUST 31st, 1885**

Here is the story as it was told to me:

On the dreadful night of the 23rd, Woody left the Seely place before supper. The storm came up while he was on his way back here. Being closer to home than to the Seely's, he decided to go on rather than turn back.

He found that by the time he reached the ford, the river was too swollen to cross there, so he followed it upstream to try and find a narrower place. He had almost doubled back to Sweet Grass by the time he found a place, and by that time, he could barely see for the rain. He knew there was an abandoned homestead up ahead, so he determined to stop there until the storm passed.

It was then he saw he was being followed. He had turned to call out, to ask the man if he needed shelter, but saw only the outstretched arm with the gun at the end. Woody was unarmed, and there was no time to run. The man fired and sped away. It was only a miracle that Woody's horse carried him all the way home.

Sheriff Carver came out from town, having heard about the shooting. He is a decent man, but a realistic one, and we both knew that nothing could be done. Was it one of Henry Slokum's men trying to scare us off the land? Or was it something far more sinister? Does this have something to do with the ugly gossip in town? I shudder to think.

**SEPTEMBER 3rd, 1885**

Lily has come to stay while Matt Seely is in Bozeman, and she is a godsend. There are a mountain of chores to be done, and she is still able to help with mending and the like, although she has grown quite round! It agrees with her, too.

Woody is managing the best he can, although he hobbles around clutches his side from time to time. He is easily frustrated and often ill-tempered, but we all understand and are trying to have patience.

I was sitting with Lily today as we worked on some sewing. She is making a little quilt for the baby. I haven't been to Sweet Grass in many days, and I asked her what news there was.

"Why, none to speak of," she said far too quickly.

"There is something, isn't there? What do they say of the shooting?"

She kept her eyes on the sewing and spoke very slowly. "There is a whispering that it was meant to be a warning to you."

"What kind of warning?" I asked her.

"About Bug. It's not too long ago that those homesteaders were killed by some Choctaw. People in town think he's trouble."

"You don't think that, do you, Lily?"

Her eyes grew wide, and her hand flew to her heart, "O, no! Bug is only decent and kind. He would never..." Her words died in her throat, and she turned her eyes back to her sewing.

We kept to our sewing, and then she gave out a little ruffle of a laugh. "Baby is very busy today! Here," and she took my hand and placed it on her round belly. "Can you feel that?" I could, and I smiled while she lit up into a smile. "I do so hope it's a girl. She'll be here soon," she said and leaned back in her chair, shutting her eyes. "Everything will be all right then."

For her sake I hope it will be.


	10. Chapter 10

**SEPTEMBER 20th, 1885**

Woody and I were working in the barn when Bug found us.

"Back from Sweet Grass?" I asked lazily, but then I could see his solemn, black eyes were wide, and he shook his head.

"I stopped by the Seely place," he said, trying to remain calm, I suppose now. "Mr. Seely sent me to fetch you. The baby is coming." He was out of breath.

"It's too soon!" I said, and I looked at Woody. He nodded in understanding.

"Come on, Jo. I'll take you." He turned to hitch the wagon while I ran back to the house with Bug.

She lay on her bed in their dusty little soddy when we arrived, gripping the sheets in pain while Matt paced at the foot of her bed.

"How long has she been laboring?" I shouted out to him as I flew to her bedside.

"Since yesterday," he mumbled.

"Yesterday?" I hissed at him. "And you didn't think to fetch me any sooner?" He mumbled something, some feeble apology. I sent him outside so I could turn my attention to Lily. Her skin was cold and pale, and she shivered in her thin nightgown. The strands of her sweat-drenched hair stuck to her damp cheeks.

I called her name softly, but she seemed at first not to see or hear. I called again, and she reached out her hand.

"Jo! It's too soon! It's too soon, isn't it?" she said, and I put a hand on her forehead. I could not lie, even to her, but I smiled weakly.

"Listen to me, Lily. You need to do just as I say. Do you understand me?"

She nodded at me with fearful eyes.

I did what I could to speed things, but poor Lily was already too weakened. She labored on for the rest of the afternoon until her little body could do no more. The men stood helplessly in the doorway, listening to her screams, the way men have done in childbirth since time began.

Shortly before sundown, she gave one last push, and the tiny form slipped silently into the world. I held the still, perfect little body in my hands. Ten perfect toes and fingers, a pink, rosebud mouth.

"Jo! Baby is here! Tell me! Is it a boy or a girl!" Lily had collapsed, exhausted, against the bed.

There was nothing I could do. I wrapped the body in the little quilt its mother had made. "A girl," I said quietly.

"A girl! O! a girl! I wanted a girl!" she said, but she then frowned and tried to lift herself on her elbows. "What's wrong, Jo? She's not crying! What's wrong!"

I sadly carried the fragile little bundle to Lily, and she let out an agonizing cry. Matt burst in the roon, and when he saw us there, he, too, cried out once, and collapsed on his knees at the bedside.

I left them there alone and stepped out into the sunset. Bug and Woody knew all without me saying a word. Woody removed his had and stood with his head hung low while we listened to their ragged sobs within. It struck Bug particularly hard, and he separated himself from us and walked some distance away.

I sat with Lily while the men prepared a grave. She rocked the baby and crooned it a lullaby through her tears until Matt came in and took it from her as she cried out in anguish. I watched through the window while he laid the baby, still wrapped in her mother's quilt, in a little patch of earth.

I felt her clutch at my hand. "They say babies who've not been baptized won't go to heaven. Do you think that's so, Jo?"

"I don't believe that for a minute," I said shaking my head. "Baby's in heaven, Lily."

She seemed to smile a little with relief. "I think so, too," she said.

We left them there with their grief. I have attended more than one birth here. Most of them with happy outcomes, many of them, not. That is the harsh reality of life here. Still, I could not help cry for this baby as we rode back home. She held so much hope, and it had all been dashed away.

Bug disappeared as soon as we got back. I was exhausted and collapsed on the bed. Woody came in the house and stood there in the doorway. No one could speak.

"You did the best you could, Jo," he said softly.

I could only nod. I opened my mouth then to say something, but he had already gone.

**OCTOBER 3rd, 1885**

It has been too hard to write. I did not plan to write today, as I felt nothing important enough had happened. O, how I wish that were true.

We were about our chores this afternoon when we saw a horse thunder up the road to the house. It was Eddie, pale and out of breath. He jumped off the horse almost before he had come to a halt.

"There's news, Miss Jo," he huffed, and I could tell it was very bad news indeed. Matt Seely, who apparently had been missing since last night, was found dead on the road from Sweet Grass with a knife under his ribs.

O, what has happened to our peaceful prairie home!


	11. Chapter 11

**OCTOBER 9th, 1885**

I scarcely know where to begin.

I went to Lily as soon as I heard the news of Matt's murder. Matt Seely was not a very well thought of in the county. He was arrogant and bad-tempered and sneaky, and I am sure there will be those who say he had it coming to him and that it is just Territory justice. Sheriff Carver was at the Seely place when I arrived, and he said as much.

Having heard the news, Dr. Macy had ridden out to the Seely place. Matt's body had been brought in and was stretched out on the marriage bed. Lily sat very calmly at the chair next to his bed with her hands folded across her lap, looking down at him as if she were waiting for him to awake from an afternoon nap. For a moment, I thought he might so peaceful did he look. His clothes were remarkably neat and free of bloodstains, and though his face was pale, he wore a serene look.

"Where was the body found?" I could hear Dr. Macy ask Sheriff Carver.

"In the field by the road to town," said Sheriff Carver impatiently. "What dos it matter?"

Lily turned very slowly to me when she heard me call her name, and she raised a hand to me. I coudls see the laudaunum on the tavle beside her thatr Dr. Macy must have brought for her.

"He looks so peaceful, don't you think?" she asked me, and I said, "Yes, yes he does, Lily. He's in no pain at all."

"He's in heaven now," she said very calmly. "With Baby." She began to weep then, and she fell into my arms.

There was nothing to be done. Woody and Bug hastily made the unfortunate man a casket from some old board they found. He was placed into the back of the wagon, and at sunset, out sad little band of mourners followed it down the hill. Dr. Macy spoke a few words from the Bible, and then Matthew Seely was buried next to his tiny daughter.

We trudged back up the hill, and supported on Bug's arm, Lily was bundled into our wagon so we could take her back to our place. I do not know what will become of her.

**OCTOBER 12th, 1885**

Lily has come to stay with us for the time being. She hardly speaks. I know she tries to help with chores, but she hardly has the energy to do much of anything. Who can blame her?

Bug tries to cheer her, and he always has a bunch of wildflowers for her or a bit of wood he has carved into a bird or some animal. It makes her smile. For a time.

She had Woody take a letter into Sweet Grass for her relations in Pittsburgh. I don't know what got me. I'm usually not so clumsy with words. I said to her, "When they get the word back home about what has happened, they'll send for you. You can go and forget all of this ever happened."

I meant it to be of comfort, but of course, it was not. She turned to me, and her eyes burned.

"I don't want to forget, Jo. I don't want to forget about Baby. Ever."

"I'm sorry," I said and reached out for her hand.

"I know you are, Jo." She took it and pressed it to her face. "Can't you see I don't want to go? I don't belong in Pittsburgh anymore. I don't belong anywhere."

I was surprised she had said it. "Why, you belong here, then, Lily. With us."

She looked at me and her eyes were sad, but she tried to smile. "You've been so good to me, Jo. Thank you. I think you're just about the only friend I've got. Except Bug."

"Bug?" I asked her. I knew he was sweet on her, but I didn't know what kind of feelings she might have for him.

"Yes!' She looked at me and her face glowed. "He is the best man I have ever known. And he cares about me! He does!"

She looked down at her sewing and said no more. She was smiling to herself. It might have been the first joy she had felt in a long time, so I said nothing and left her to herself.

Later, I came in the house with some eggs. She and Bug were seated there at the table. They had their heads pressed together in conversation. Her hand was on top of his. They stopped talking when they saw me, but I got the distinct impression that I had interrupted something.

**OCTOBER 19th, 1885**

They came at sundown.

Woody was in the back field, leaving me and LIly by ourselves in the house. Perhaps that was the way they had planned it.

Lily noticed them first. We were just about to call the boys in for supper when she leaned out the door, squinting her eyes.

"Someone's coming," she said ominously.

I crossed over to her at the tone of her voice. In the distance, we could see them, a line sneaking off the road and around the back of the barn. Cowards!

Some of them had kerchiefs tied around their noses and mouths to disguise themselves, but I knew most of them. Farmers and merchants. Some of the county's finest citizens. They rode to my door in a leisurely fashion, as if they were paying a social call. All except for the shotguns some of them held across their laps.

"Stay inside," I said to Lily as if I weren't afraid, but I knew I had cause to be.

The men slowed to a halt, and I stood with my arms folded across my chest.

"We have no quarrel with you," one of them said. I knew him under the red bandana. I knew what he was capable of.

"You have no quarrel with anyone on my farm," I said. "Take your men and go, Malden."

With a nod from Malden, one of the others jumped from his horse. I took a step away, but he had my arms pinned behind my back, Lily shreiked and cowered fearfully in the doorway. Others had already dismounted and were searching, we knew, for Bug.

A man pushed past Lily into the house and others were headed to the barn and the bunkhouse. I prayed that he had seen them coming and had managed to find a good hiding place.

"Just tell us where he is, Jo," Malden said. "Don't make this harder on yourself."

I struggled to get free, but Malden's man had a firm grip on my upper arms. "I don't know where he is. I haven't seen him in days. He's long gone by now, if he has any sense," I lied.

There was a moment of hope. I could see Malden's cruel eyes narrow as if he was measuring the truth of what I had said. The man had come out of the bunkhouse empty-handed, and I thought that Bug would escape. But then the barn doors flew open, and Bug was being led out with his hands bound behind his back and the barrel of a shotgun to his head.

His eyes were wild with dear, and I felt for a moment as I would be sick. Behind me, LIly screamed out again. Malden looked at her in dusgust.

"This man killed your husband, Miz Seely. And you defend him?" No answer came, as I could see from the corner of my eye that Lily had crouched in the doorway with her hands clapped over her ears.

"He's killed no one! He's innocent! If you won't take his word, take mine!" But it was too late, and Bug had been thrown on the back of a horse. He turned to us, and there was a kind of resignation in his face. We knew all too well what was going to happen. The man who had been holding me finally let me go, and I tumbled to the ground.

The pack of them sped off with a thunder of hooves as I scrambled to my feet. Lily and I watched helplessly as they sped away.

It was only a few minutes later that Woody appeared around the corner with a cheerful smile He could have no idea, of course, what had happened, but he froze when he saw our horrified faces. I ran to him, the words spilling out of me.

"They've taken Bug! They'll kill him, Woody. You've got to stop them," I pled with him. His shoulders sank for a moment, but then he gave me a determined nod.

"Which way did they head?" He was racing over to Dasher.

"South. I'm coming with you!" I followed him, but he shook his head.

"No. It's too dangerous, Jo!"

"I don't care!"

"Well, I do! No!" he said again. "I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you, Jo. Besides, you can't leave Lily here alone."

I looked back at Lily, rocking and keening in the doorway, and I knew he was right. He tore after them while I went to LIly, and we clutched at each other, not knowing what I'd sent Woody into, and not knowing if we could see either of our men again.

We sat there with our eyes focused in the distance. I cannot tell now if we sat for fifteen minutes or three hours. We sat, holding our breath, sick with worry. The sun began to sink, and our hopes with it.

It had begun to grow dark, and Lilly shivered next to me. I slipped my shawl around her. I could make out the faintest hint of a figure on the horizon. A man on a horse, but he was not alone. He carried something. Someone. I stood squinting into the fading light as he grew closer, and my heart thudded with dread.

It was Woody, I could see it then, and he carried a body on the back of his horse. "No," I said aloud, and Lily, who had begun to drift in her exhausted fate, began to stir.

I rose from the bench in front of the house and stumbled forward as Woody reached the front of the house. He lifted Bug's body off the horse and stretched it gently on the ground. Bug's eyes stared up at us lifelessly. There was still a piece of rope coiled aorund his neck from where Woody had cut him down, too late, from a tree. Lily let out a piercing cry and stretched herslf across his broken body

It was a pitiful scene. Lily sobbed with hysterics, and Woody and I looked on. WE could help her no more than we had helped Bug. He had died afraid and alone for no reason -- none at all, and would had done nothing to stop it.

I covered my face with my apron and cried along with her. I felt Woody fold me into his embrace.

We buried him next to Mama and Pa. Woody made him a cross for his grave and carved "Bug" there. It was the only name we had known him by. We recited the 23rd Psalm.

"I don't even know if he was a Christian," Woody said as we looked down at the grave.

"He was a good, decent man," I said. "That's enough for me."

**OCTOBER 22nd, 1885**

They have done nothing in Sweet Grass. He was just another outsider who was going to make trouble. And so, Bug is forgotten.

But not by us. Never by us!


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Thanks for R&Ring. It's nice to know that some of you are reading and actually enjoying:) Remember how I said I thought the story was too dark? Well, consider yourselves warned..._

XXXXXX

**OCTOBER 27th, 1885**

Lily hardly takes any food or water. Woody and I are worried for her, but there seems to be nothing we can do.

She sits and shivers by the fire or sits down by the pond and Bug's grave. She talks about him sometimes, recalling things he had said or done. She talks about Baby sometimes, too, as if she were still alive.

"O, Jo! I hear someone crying! Could it be Baby? I think she's hungry. Could you go in and fetch her in the cradle for me?" she will say, and I will go silently into the house.

Other times, she seems as clear as day. One morning I sat outside churning the butter, and she came and stood looking out onto the pasture.

"God I had this place," she said. "The dust, the heat, the lack of privacy. I hate it. I wish I'd never come here." Then she walked away down the bank, and I didn't see her for hours.

Woody came from Sweet Grass with a letter today for her from Pittsburgh. She seemed to be cheered a little by that, and went off by herself to read it. She didn't say anything about it when she came in for supper.

Later, she and I sat by the fire after Woody had gone to the bunkhouse for the night. I sewed, but she said her hands were too stiff from the cold to sew, so she sat there staring into the flames.

And then she started to speak, and I hesitate to put what she said down on paper.

She started by saying, "There's news from my family back east."

"O?" I said, as if I hadn't been waiting all day for her to tell me what the letter said.

"Yes, it seems Papa's business isn't what it used to be."

I put my sewing down and looked at her then. There was an eerie calm about her.

"What did they say?" I asked her.

"They've had to let go some of the employees at the mill and some of the servants, too. Mama's doing most of the work herself now."

"Well, when you go back home, you'll be able to lend a hand, then," I said promisingly.

"They don't want me, Jo," she said in a voice like a child's.

"Of course they do! You're their daughter!" I insisted.

"No," she said and shook her head sadly. "Papa didn't say as much, but they don't need another mouth to feed. I don't think they can even afford the train fare back home."

"Hell, I'll pay your train fare, Lily," I said.

"No," she shook her head again so resolutely it took my breath. "I can't go home. I don't belong there anymore. I'm not fit."

I couldn't speak for a moment, and I searched my mind for reason why Lily Seely would think she was not fit to live in proper society anymore. Finding none, I said to her, "That's ridiculous. What else will you do, Lily?"

She lifted her shoulders in a kind of indifferent shrug. "Henry Slokum is looking for a wife," she said flatly.

"O, you can't mean that, Lily! You're not going to marry Henry Slokum!" I would have laughed if I thought she wasn't actually serious.

"Why not?" She turned to me with a fierceness that surprised me. "He'd take care of me, wouldn't he? He'd never beat me or mistreat me. I'd never want for anything."

"But, you don't love him!" I said.

She looked away from me again. "What does that matter? I lost everything I've loved. I lost the man I truly loved, Jo."

I thought she must have meant the man she left behind in Pittsburgh or even Matt Seely. But then she went on. She was looking into the fire with a far off look in her eyes.

"I didn't think it would end up this way. I should have known. I should have known! O, I blame myself. If I'd known the way things would have turned out, I never would have..."

She stopped, but then I knew with certainty that the man she was talking about wasn't Matt, it was Bug, and she blamed herself for his death.

"We can't blame ourselves for what happened to Bug, Lily," I said to her with sympathy, but she turned to me again with fire in her eyes again.

"I can! I do!"

I opened my mouth to speak, but she had jumped from her chair and was kneeling beside me. She took my hand and pressed it to her cheek and spoke with such an urgency in her voice. "Jo! Promise me you won't wait another day! It's right there in front of you.! Woody loves you, and you love him. Don't waste love!"

"I don't want that, Lily," I said to her as gently as I could, and I pulled my hand from her grip. "I told you. Love is nothing but a disappointment."

I could see her eyes pool with tears, and she spoke with such sadness. "Love is never a disappointment, Jo. Only the lack of it."

She rose then and sat back in her chair and said not another thing.

As I finish this, she sits there still. I told her I would go to bed as soon as I was done, and she only nodded.

My head is still swimming with what she said. Why does she blame herself so for Bug's death? I have an idea, and it chills me to my bones.

**OCTOBER 28th, 1885**

I will begin at the beginning and try to make sense from what happened today.

I rose in the morning to find the bed next to me empty. The sheets were cold. I stretched and blinked. Light spilled in from the outside, and I expected to see Lily stirring at the stove, but all was still.

I called out for her, but I got no response. I threw back the covers and crossed to the door. Woody was coming in from the bunkouse, yawning lazily. When he saw me there running around in my nightgown, he hurried over.

"What is it, Jo?"

"Lily! She's gone. Have you seen her?" My voice had risen in panic, and we both began to call out for her.

I hurried down the bank, hoping that she had merely risen early for a stroll in the October air and that we would find her picking wildflowers for Bug's grave. I knew it wouldn't be so. I knew sure as I breathed what I would find when I came over the crest.

I fell to my knees and cried out when I saw her, my hands pressed to my mouth in a scream. Woody heard and ran past me, stumbling down the hill all the way.

She lay face-down in the pond, her white nightgown billowing around her, her wet hair twisting on the surface like a nest of water moccasins. Woody waded in up to his waist and lifted her limp body out of the pond and onto the bank.

I had found my feet and had come to her side was we frantically brushed away her hair from her face. It was too late, we knew it then. Her skin was deathly white, and her eyes were unseeing. Woody sank back on his heels in resignation. There was nothing we could do. Lily was gone.

We carried her back to the house, and I lovingly brushed the dirt and weeds from her hair and wrapped her up in an old quilt. It was then that Dr. Macy arrived. He had heard about Bug and came by to see how we were faring. I could hear him talking to Woody outside the house in hushed voices.

He came in then and stood beside the bed where I sat with her body. I looked up at him, wondering what he would say about this awful thing.

"Lily Seely drowned accidentally," Dr. Macy said firmly. "That's what my report will say. She went out this morning for an early swim. She lost her balance and was drowned."

It isn't true, of course. We all know it. But I thanked him, and Woody came inside. I could see his eyes were red from crying too.

"Where should we take her?" he asked softly. "We can bury her at her place or here with...the other graves."

"Here," I said immediately.

"Do you think she might want to be buried with her baby?" I noticed he didn't mention Matt.

"Lily's soul is already in heaven with Baby and...anyone else she cared about. It matters little where we put her body," I said with practicality. I am not given to some of that religious sentimentality.

O, I now understand why Lily blamed herself for Bug's death. I will never know what happened between her and Matt Seely on that day he ended up dead on the road to Sweet Grass. The events of that terrible day died along with Lily. Was she distraught with grief over Baby's death? Did she blame Matt somehow? I don't know, and I'm not sure I will ever know. I only pray that her poor soul has found some peace.

Woody went out to start on her grave, and I don't know what it was that gripped me. I tore out of the house with Woody calling after me all the way. I was on a horse, kicking up a trail of dust, and into Sweet Grass, riding as if I was possessed.

I didn't slow until I reached town. The street was crowded with people going about their usual business. How many of them, I wondered, had ridden up to my house with bandanas pulled up to their eyes?

I slid from the horse, and they all looked at me curiously the way they do. I'm only the crazy Cavanaugh woman.

"Who was it?" I screamed with fire in my voice. "Was it you? Was it you?" I grabbed men by the shirt collar as they passed me by, and they looked at me with guilty shrugs. I saw Malden then. He was shuffling out of Nigel's store with a smirk on his face.

"You! You killed an innocent man! You're a murderer!" I screamed. Nigel had come out of the store at the sound of my voice.

"Now, those are strong words, Miss Jo," he said with that same smirk in his voice. "You got proof?"

"I saw you with my own eyes!" I spat.

He just chuckled and waved his hand at some of the bystanders. "Why, I got a street full of people who can tell you that I was out at Redding's place all night the day that Indian was killed. Ain't that right?" he said, and several of the men nodded in agreement.

I turned around and looked at them in disbelief. "You're going to let him get away with this? He killed an innocent man! O, I know you all think I'm crazy, but no one's ever accused me of being a liar!"

Some of them looked away from me, and all was quiet except for a few nervous coughs and murmurs.

It was like I was watching myself then. That's they only way I can describe it. I charged at Malden, who still stood on the steps of Nigel's store. I had nothing, no weapon, just my bare hands, and O! I do think I could have killed him. He drew his gun, and Nigel grabbed me about the waist and pinned my arms to my side.

"Don't, Miss Jo!" Nigel said to me in my ear. "Bug wouldn't want this. It's not worth it."

It calmed me a bit. I knew he was right. Bug had often said how he hated violence of any kind. I had seen him many times carry a cricket or a spider from the house out into the yard rather than kill it. I wonder if that's how he got his name.

Malden still stood laughing as he tucked his pistol back into his holster, but my blood still boiled. Nigel let me go, and I headed back to my horse. My head was held high as everyone averted their eyes. I would not let them see me cry!

"Cowards!" I yelled as I rode off. "You're all miserable cowards if you let him get away with this!"

It was growing dark as I arrived back home. Woody never asked where I had been, and I never told. We buried Lily next to Bug and Mama and Pa, four graves right in a sad little row.

We walked together back up to the house and dropped into our seats at the table. There seemed to be nothing to say. I have never felt such despair as I did then. Lily's baby, Matt, Bug, Lily. All gone in the passing of a few months. She wanted that baby, and I think now that she must have loved Bug. She loved them, and she lost them. Is that what happens when you dare to love? Fate is very cruel indeed.

I looked over at Woody and saw there, too, such a pain in his eyes. I thought I was too tired, too drained to cry, but I did. I sobbed with an abandon still in the clothes I had worn since that morning. They were wet and muddy, and my hands were raw from the cold water, and I sobbed from the pain and the loss and the frustration. My whole body shook, and I rested my head on the table.

"Now, Jo. Don't...please," Woody said quietly to me. His hand reached out, and I could feel him stroke the back of my head. "Now, don't."

But I kept crying, and I thought I might not ever stop. He kept on whispering to me in soft little words. His hands were on my hair and my arms.

Then his fingers slipped under my chin and lifted my face up to his. "Don't cry, Jo," he said, and wiped my tears away with his rough thumbs. "Don't."

He kissed me then, long and hard, and I stopped crying. I let him kiss me. I wanted him to, and he whispered to me between kisses, "Let me love you, Jo."

I felt him scoop me into his arms and carry me to the bed where he stretched me out gently, and he kissed me on my face and down my neck to the little notch at the base of my throat, still whispering soft things to me.

He looked up at me and searched my eyes. I bit my lip and nodded, and I could feel him push my nightgown up. I knew it would hurt, and it did. There was a sharp, searing pain, and I drew my breath in between my teeth.

He stopped. I thought for a moment he might leave me, but he did not. He eased himself inside of me slowly. He began to move over me like water, and then there was such a feeling of warmth that started between my legs and filled my whole body!

I am not ignorant in what goes on between a man and a woman. I am a midwife, after all. But I did not know it would be like this. There was a sweet release. My body shuddered, and I cried out. And then there was a cry in him that seemed to rumble from his own chest, and he fell against me.

We lay twisted around each other for a long time trying to catch our breath. Neither one of us said much, but he hummed little pieces of a tune until we both started to drift off.

The fire was dying, and I got up to stoke it and write in my journal a little after Woody fell asleep. I don't know what to make of this day. I have sat here for almost an hour, trying to figure out what words to put down here.

There is nothing to say. I felt such bliss for a few moments! For a brief time, there was no sadness and death. But nothing has really changed. Has it?


	13. Chapter 13

**OCTOBER 29th, 1885**

I slept in the rocking chair, though I did not actually do much sleeping. Woody was sleeping so peacefully in my bed, that I dared not disturb him.

I sat up most of the night wondering how things would be the next morning, until I knew what I had to do. I was certain of it.

It had started to snow when I went outside for more firewood at first light. Winter has come early. I stoked the fire and put some coffee on, and started some of the ham for breakfast.

I was standing at the stove when I felt Woody wrap his arms around me and bury his face in my neck. I stepped away from him quickly and turned around. He stood in front of me wearing nothing but his pants. He'd pulled his suspenders up over his bare chest, and I had to work to keep my eyes on his.

He was smiling at first, but his smile fell when he saw me there with my lips pinched together in a thin line. "Breakfast will be ready in a minute," I said to him quickly and turned back to the stove.

He didn't sit, but I could hear him stirring around behind me. "Is that all you've got to say, Jo?"

I turned and dropped some ham on a plate and set it on the table. "What would you have me say?" And I went about my business.

"I want you to tell me you've never been so happy in your life! Because that's the way I feel! I've never felt so happy as I was holding you in my arms last night."

I turned and wiped my hands matter-of-factly on my apron. "I've got a farm to run, Woody. Things don't stop just because..." I jerked my head over to where the sheets on the bed were still mussed. O, I could feel my cheeks burning!

"But everything has changed!" he said with a happy laugh. "Don't you see that?"

"Nothing's changed." I shook my head firmly. "We go on. That's all we can ever do. People die and crops fail, but we go on."

He walked over to me and took each of my shoulders in his hand. "Tell me that you don't feel something for me. I know you do. Don't you see? I want to marry you, Jo!"

"Marry you? Ha!" I pushed him back hard, and he nearly fell over. "I'm not going to marry you! I'm not going to marry anyone! Do you know what happens when a woman marries? Everything she has becomes her husband's. This land is mine, hear me? Mine! I've worked too hard to save this farm only to have you sell it out from under me, Woody!'

"I wouldn't do that, Jo! I love you. I want to work this land with you. Don't you understand that? I love you! Hell, if you feel that way, we don't have to get married. We can live up here in mortal sin for all I care. If it's one thing you've taught me it's to not give a damn what those gossips in town think!"

I looked down and tried not to cry. No! I wouldn't cry! It had to be this way. When I finally looked back up at him, his eyes were dark.

"So, what happens to us?" he asked in a broken voice.

"We go back to the way things were. That's the way it has to be. I own this place, and you're my hired hand."

We stood for a silent moment, and then finally he went over to the bed and sank down on the edge. After a bit, he pulled on his boots and slipped his shirt over his head.

He left without a word, and I watched through the window as he walked down to the bunkhouse in the new-fallen snow. I thought he had gone to start his chores or to wash his face, but after a bit he came out of the bunkhouse with his rucksack over his shoulder.

He meant to leave.

I wrapped myself in a blanket and headed out as quick as I could to the barn to where he was saddling his horse.

"What are you doing?" I asked him, although I knew in a terrible sinking.

"I'm leaving, Miss Jo," he said, going back to the old formality. It sent a pang through me.

"Leaving? But you can't!" I started to say something else, but no words followed. Of course he was leaving. How could I have expected him to do any different?

"I can't stay here. You know that." He led the horse out of the barn, and I followed him in a panic.

"Don't go, Woody! I need you!" He mounted his horse, and I pulled at the tail of his coat.

"As what, Miss Jo?" he asked me angrily. "As what? Your hired hand? Well, if I'm not good enough to be your husband, I'm not good enough to be your hired hand."

"Where are you going? What are you going to do?" I called after him.

"I'll stay in Sweet Grass for the night and then into Bozeman. After that, I don't know. But you'll never see me again, Miss Jo. I'm through with you."

He turned the horse around and then headed down the road and away from the farm. I called out to him again, but he kept going with his head down and his collar up against the drifting snow.

"Go!" I finally yelled, but I doubt he heard me. "You always go!"

I didn't care about the stinging of the icy little pellets against my face, and I stood for a long while, calling after him until my tears froze against my cheeks.

I thought all day he might come back. I kept coffee and food on the stove all day. I had convinced myself that he would come creeping back at supper time, he would see I was right, and all would be forgotten.

But as I sit here now, I know that I do not want all to be forgotten! I fear I have made some terrible mistake. Woody is gone, and I know now that Lily was right. I have wasted love!

I cannot write in this book any more. It brings me no joy. I will put it away in the trunk and forget about it. I will never read it again. It will bring me too much pain.

I only hope there is some way I can right this terrible wrong. I only hope I am not too late.


	14. Chapter 14

She was drained when she finally closed the little book. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her hands still trembled.

Had it happened? Had she lived another life? No, it had to be some kind of bizarre coincidence, she told herself, but as she turned each page, the memories flooded her senses. She could see the house and the tree and the pond. The overwhelming grief pulled at her.

The woman who wrote those words had closed herself off from love and hope out of fear of being hurt, and Jordan knew when she had sent Woody away with her cruel words, that she had done the same thing.

She sat on the bed, too numb to move, until she finally felt that she had landed back in 2006. It all seemed suddenly clear to her. Somehow, the voices had spoken, and she had heard them.

Outside, the snow had begun to fall, but she ran into the cold, barefoot, wearing nothing but her thin cotton pajamas, and she pounded on Woody's door with an urgency. Like Jo, she only hoped it wasn't too late.

It took him some time for him to respond, and he opened the door and stood there in his boxers, rubbing drowsily at his eyes.

"Jordan? It's the middle of the night. What do you want?" he said in a hoarse voice, as if he had just been awakened. But she could hear the TV in the background, and she knew that he had been as unable to sleep as she.

"I don't know. I just had to see you," she croaked.

He frowned and stood mutely in the door. Finally, he noticed the little pellets that melted in her hair and on her bare arms.

"Jesus, Jordan! You're freezing! You'll catch your death." He took her hand gently and pulled her into the room. She stood shivering there while he ran into the bathroom and wrapped a towel around her.

"Thanks..." she said through chattering teeth, and she could feel the warmth return to her bones as he rubbed gently at her limbs.

"What are you doing here?" he said sharply, although he still stood with his arms wrapped around her.

"I had to talk to you. Please. I need to talk to you."

There was a pained silence. "I think we've said everything we have to say to each other."

She pushed away from him, her voice choked with tears. "Please, just hear me out, Woody..."

He shook his head and held his hands out in front of him. "You were right, Jordan. We can't keep hurting each other like this."

"No! No! Please! Just listen to me!" she started frantically.

"Jordan, no"

"Listen to me, Woody! You're right. We've hurt each other in the past, but it was by pushing each other away."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Come on, Jordan. This is just you jerking my chain again, right?" There was a sharp, angry edge in his voice. "You're going to say you want to be with me, and then once we get back to Boston it's 'I need time.' Right? I mean, isn't that how we always play this? One step up, two steps back?"

"No! No, it's the truth, Woody."

"Then, why the about face?"

She raised her arms helplessly. "I don't know. I can't quite explain it, and you wouldn't believe it even if I could. You said I've been acting strange since I got here, and you're right. Something..._happened_. Let's just say...I've had a change of heart. No more games. No more dancing around it. I'm through pushing. I don't want to make excuses anymore. I don't want to take it slow. I don't want to waste another minute not being with you."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and staggered to the bed, where he sank down onto the edge. "Wow, Jordan. This is..." he ran a hand over his face. "I don't know.

She followed and sat down uneasily next to him. "The other day, you asked me for another chance. Now it's me asking," she said in a small, broken voice.

His shoulders sank and he shook his head slowly, saying nothing.

Tears rimmed her eyes. "Well, that's it then," she said with a sad laugh. "I'm sorry. I had to at least try. I'll just..."

But then he stopped her mouth with a kiss. And another. His arms were around her, and they tumbled backward onto the bed.

It was the way it had been at the Lucy Carver Inn. They were tender at first, without the awkwardness of first-time lovers, and then their passion rose to a heated crescendo until the both fell back against the pillow in exhaustion.

Their bodies lay curled around each other, and he stroked her long chestnut hair.

"I don't want to waste this..." she whispered aloud, mostly to herself, and he kissed the top of her head.

As she began to drift, she heard Lily's voice in her head. _Love is never a disappointment. Only the lack of it._

XXXXX

She rose and showered early the next morning. When she came out of the bathroom, he was stirring in bed.

"Jordan? Are you going somewhere?" he murmured.

"I was just going to run into town for a minute. I shouldn't be long."

"Okay..." he started warily, "but we've got a flight back to Boston at 11AM."

"We do?"

"Yeah. The feds are taking over. They've even got a couple of suspects lined up. Walcott wants us back to start building a case for when they finally find this bastard. Didn't you get the message?"

"Well, I've been kind of..._distracted_. Anyway, I'll be back with time to spare."

She crawled across the bed to him and planted a long kiss on his mouth. "I'll be back with time to spare."

He raised an eyebrow at her and grinned. "Time to spare for _what_?"

She grinned back at him. "I'll leave it to your imagination." She kissed him again quickly and slipped out into the cold.

She dressed in her room and then hurried the few blocks over to the used book store on the main street. What had Nigel said to her? _Perhaps voices from a past life are trying to tell you something, to warn you that you're about to head down the wrong path_...

But what path had Jo taken in 1885? Had she really gone on alone and full of regret? Or, like Jordan, had she somehow righted the wrong? She couldn't go back to Boston without knowing the rest of Jo's story.

As she rounded the corner, she could see the proprietor opening up the store for the day.

"Oh, hello, dear. Back for more?" the woman said, and let Jordan slip past her inside the door.

Jordan turned to her eagerly. "The journal that you sold me...I need to know more about it."

"Oh, yes! You read it, then! We found it in an old trunk up in my mother-in-law's attic when she died. It had come down through my husband's family. We thought we might find something of value in it, but it was only the journal, a bunch of old photos and some quilt scraps. Being interested in history, though, we decided to have a small run of the journal printed."

"The trunk was in your husband's family? So, he was related to the woman who wrote the journal?" Jordan asked with excitement.

The woman frowned. "Yes, distantly. Some kind of cousin or great-great aunt, I think. I really don't know much about his side of the family to tell you the truth. Now, me, on the other hand...I'm descended from three American presidents!"

Jordan ignored her and went on. "The photographs! Do you know what happened to them?"

The woman furrowed her brow and nodded. "Why, yes. I believe we had them framed and hung back there in the local history section." She raised her hand to point the way, but Jordan had already headed between the rows to the back corner of the store.

She wasn't sure what she was looking for, only that she would know when she found it. She searched among the rows of old charts and maps and old-time photographs of long-dead homesteaders.

She had almost given up hope when she saw it there in old sepia tone. A house, a weeping willow, a pond. The house was different. An addition had been built on the side, and there was a new porch on the front.

A woman stood there, looking back at Jordan with familiar eyes. She carried a baby on one hip and her other arm was hooked through the crook of the elbow of the handsome young man standing next to her. In front of them stood a small boy of about five years old. He looked like his father, with blue eyes and thick, dark hair. Underneath, someone had printed in neat handwriting:

OUR FAMILY

SWEET GRASS, MONTANA

1892

The bookstore owner had come down the aisle. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Jordan felt her eyes well with tears as she ran her fingers over the glass on the old picture. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I did."

THE END


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